RAIN
Chapter nineteen
“Do I get compensation for my efforts?” I tease.
“You just exposed someone for doing what you’re trying to do right now.”
Propping my phone against my laptop screen, I lock my hands in my lap. “Call me a hypocrite or whatever nickname you think suits.”
“Prick.”
“I was hoping for something a little more friendly, but whatever you want, baby.”
He moves to sit on his bed, still not hanging up. I mean, he could, but I’d become even more of a hypocrite, because I’d pester the fuck out of him until I got what I want.
His eyes fall down my body quickly. Pushing away from the desk, I roll back, bettering his view. “Do it again.”
“Prick.”
A loud laugh bounces my chest, which his eyes lock on, slowly raking down my body to my white sweatpants.
“You don’t have tattoos?” he asks.
“Never found anything I want permanently on me, but your name may be an exception.”
He sighs, running a hand down his reddening face.
“I was thinking my ass, but my wrist might be better.”
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you, Rain. I appreciate you helping with Kilah, but that’s the extent of our relationship. I’ll pay you for what you’ve done.”
“In dick pics.”
“Rain.”
“Baby.” He drops his head, the screen turning to face the ceiling. “You haven’t spent any of your money.”
“It’s not mine,” he snaps.
“It is.”
His face appears again, raged and tense. “I’m not a charity case.”
“Don’t twist my intentions. I want you to be comfortable. If you want a new house, buy one. You want a new car, get one. You want to spoil your sisters, do it.”
“I…” he trails off, looking away. “Your father intervened in my career today, and I’m pissed off about that too.”
I pull myself closer. “What do you mean?”
“I was benched. He made my coach put me on.”
I can understand why Dad did that. Rome deserves to be playing. Still, he shouldn’t do anything regarding Rome without my say so.
“I’ll handle it,” I assure.
“I already did,” he growls, which only makes my cock twinge. “All Westons can fuck off out of my life.”
His face disappears as he hangs up. So, I ring again and again, until I’m listening to the automated voicemail.
I’m glad we’re killing Atticus Cade tonight. I need to let off some fucking steam.
“Don’t lose your shit and get us arrested,” I say to Blade, who’s in the driver’s seat of the car I had Kieran purchase in cash yesterday.
“You’re acting like this is my first time killing someone. I’m not a novice.”
Atticus Cade being the son of the District Attorney is certainly a challenge for us, a bonus for him to sell his drugs and never worry about being caught.
Atticus was the star quarterback at Westwood Senior High School.
I dug around and found out he went to college.
He fell flat on his face. Literally. First game.
It would’ve been a shock to his fragile ego to learn playing in high school is nothing compared to college.
He despised me the day he learnt I started dating Alexa and was royally pissed she trusted me with her virginity.
Atticus made a bet with the entire football team that he’d take it from her.
I’d sought her since our first day in high school, and I wasn’t going to let that rodent fuck her and fuck her off.
My breaths strain against the white mask covering my face. Blade, however, emits a deadly nonchalance as he rounds the next corner toward the garage Atticus uses as a front to hide his money.
“Cameras?” Blade asks.
“On loop,” I confirm. I even have a little fly buzzing around in one frame, disappear for a few minutes, then fly a different path every few minutes after that. It will never fly the same path twice, and the video won’t look fabricated. No one can prove otherwise.
Now, I’m not stroking my ego, but I am a fucking genius.
Blade rounds the back into the dimly lit alleyway and kills the lights and engine, crawling to a stop a few shops down.
I think in At’s puny brain, he’s convinced himself he’ll become the next Pablo Escobar. His father’s money paid for the garage, and I think Ron Cade allows Atticus to do what he wants so he’ll fuck off and leave him alone.
I slide my gun out as we exit the car, and then I punch in the number sequence Atticus put in an hour ago. I rip it open, the door emitting a faint, barely audible shriek. Blade’s head jerks impressed I didn’t take my sweet ass time and alert the entire damn city.
He enters the dark back storage room, and I follow, ripping the door almost off the frame to dampen the sound, then silently close it.
He moves with ease through the room, making no sound whatsoever.
He’s tall and built with muscle, even I’m making a little noise as I step.
Although I can’t see his eyes, I know he’s glaring as he points to my shoes.
I roll my eyes and wave him forward, making sure to literally tip toe.
My heart drums as he surveys the workshop through the glass panel on the door.
I know the ramifications if we’re caught. If this shit goes sideways, we have less than two minutes to get to the car and disappear.
Light spills in through the glass, allowing me to see Blade’s finger pointed, indicating At’s in sight. Sweat coats my back as I watch his finger intently. It retreats to his fist, and I follow through the door.
Blade’s AK-47 raises, my own shaking a little from the adrenaline. We could have put a bullet through At’s skull by now and been laughing as we drive away, but there are other matters we need to discuss with precious little Atticus Cade.
As we move across the workshop past a car with its engine out and a motorcycle in pieces, Blade comes to an abrupt stop. My shoe scuffs when I’m forced to keep from colliding with his back. His hand palms my ribs, shoving me behind him.
Okay, he’s two years older and trained for this, but if this motherfucker continues throwing me around like a goddamn child, I might just give him another scar.
He pushes me back behind the wall, handing me his gun.
What the fuck is he doing?
He pins himself to the wall beside me, his chest rising and falling steadily. I lower my gaze to his hand, noting his pointed finger.
A whistled tune flows down the small hall from where the offices and toilets are, and Blade stretches his hand before fisting it. Atticus steps out, and Blade’s fist drives into his face. At’s unconscious body flops to the floor, money falling around him.
“Hmm,” I hum, a little impressed watching blood pour from At’s obvious broken nose, but with us around, a broken nose will be at the bottom of his horrors to come.