Chapter Four Eason Storm
The sound of my fists slamming into the heavy bag echoed through the gym like warning shots—loud, sharp, and mean. Each punch carried every ounce of frustration I’d been holding since that night. Since the hospital. Since the cemetery. Since her.
Xalori Carson.
I couldn’t get that woman out of my fucking head.
I wasn’t the type to obsess over women. I didn’t chase. I didn’t beg. I claimed what was mine, handled business, and kept it moving.
My name carried weight for a reason. Women knew what it was when they stepped into my orbit. I didn’t do love. I didn’t do attachment.
But she flipped my whole damn axis.
It wasn’t just her mouth. Or that fine ass. Or that body that made me think about ruining her life just so I could put it back together again.
It was her pain. Her fire. The way she looked at me like I terrified her and still couldn’t look away.
I’d been nice. Gave her space. Let her breathe. But that was me trying to play it cool. Trying not to let the real me show.
The possessive me. The obsessive me.
The part of me that could’ve pulled up to her place the night after the hospital and never left. But I didn’t. I gave her time. Thought maybe she’d come to her senses. But all that soft shit ended tonight.
“Bruh, I ain’t never seen you this pressed over a woman,” my brother, Ozias, called from across the gym. Arms crossed, leaning against the ropes like he was waiting for me to explode.
I rolled my neck, exhaled slow, sweat dripping down my brow. “I ain’t pressed.”
Ozias chuckled. “Nah, nigga. You’re obsessed.”
I swung again, putting enough force behind the swing to make the entire bag rattle against the chain.
Maybe I was. But obsession wasn’t weakness. When a man finds something that belongs to him, that shit becomes law.
And Xalori was mine.
After the gym, I slid through Monarch Heights to my parents’ estate. I needed to cool down before I did something reckless.
The second I stepped inside, I heard Ginger’s giggles echo down the hall. My mother had her tonight, and usually, I’d go straight to my baby girl. But tonight, my mind was fucked. My chest heavy with two names I couldn’t shake.
Before I could move another inch, Charlotte Storm rounded the corner like she’d been waiting on queue.
“Somebody’s brooding,” she said, stepping into the foyer with a glass of red in her hand.
“Not tonight, Ma.”
“Then stop walking around like somebody kicked your dog.” She took a sip. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?”
My mother was relentless. She smelled weakness and emotions like a bloodhound. And right now, I was leaking both.
“So, it is a woman,” she smirked, sipping again, eyes locked on me like a damn hawk.
I didn’t answer. Just walked past her, headed straight to the kitchen to find something cold to drink. Maybe something strong.
She followed, naturally. “I know my boys,” she said. “I know when something’s got them twisted. And since I haven’t heard about you knocking some poor man’s head clean off his shoulders, so that means it’s a woman.”
I dragged my hand down my face. “It’s complicated.”
My mother arched a brow. “You don’t do complicated, Eason.”
She wasn’t wrong. I never entertained messy shit. If I wanted something, I took it. If it wasn’t worth the energy, I walked.
But Xalori, she was worth the storm.
“There’s a kid involved,” I muttered. “She has a son.”
“And judging by your tone, I’m guessing he’s not just any kid.” Her expression softened. “And what about her?”
“She’s fighting me.” My voice dropped. “Like I ain’t everything she needs.”
Charlotte tilted her head, studying me like she was looking through me. “And do you think this woman is worth it?”
I didn’t hesitate. “She is.”
A slow smirk curved her lips as she raised her glass. “Then fight for her.”
Her words settled in my chest like an order. And I knew right then, I’d been playing this too soft.
I hadn’t planned on pulling up on her just yet. I’d been giving her space, letting her catch her breath. But after that talk with Ma, it hit me—I don’t do soft.
I don’t wait around hoping someone sees things my way. I make them see it. And Xalori was about to find out exactly who the fuck she was dealing with.
There was no fighting this. No escaping me. She was mine. The sooner she accepted it, the better.
But when I pulled into her neighborhood, ready to press the issue, the last thing I expected to see was some weak-ass, corny-looking nigga posted at her doorstep like he belonged there.
He was too comfortable, like all of this was too familiar to him. The second I saw his lame-ass smile and he leaned in close to her door, something in me snapped.
I sat in my car, grip tightening on the wheel, jaw clenching so hard I thought my teeth might crack. A slow, burning rage coiled in my chest as I watched this corny motherfucker knock on her door like he had a right.
Who the fuck was he? What the fuck was he doing here?
Every muscle in my body locked. The way he leaned against her doorframe like he’d been there before. Like this wasn’t new.
I had no clue if this was her baby daddy, some old nigga she used to fuck with, or some stupid motherfucker who thought he had a shot with my woman.
All I knew was this, Xalori and Nas were mine.
And if any nigga was standing in the way of that, I’d send his soul to the pearly gates with no mercy and no hesitation.
Before I could think twice, my car door flew open. I stepped out, jaw clenched so tight, I could taste blood. That nigga didn’t even know he was standing on borrowed time.
I rolled my shoulders and inhaled deeply. I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t pissed. I was territorial, possessive, and unhinged.
And I was ready to deliver hell.
Crossing the street, every step I took was slow and deliberate. My eyes were locked on him like he was already a memory.
The weak-ass nigga must’ve felt the shift in the air because I noticed his shoulders tensed up the second I got closer.
By the time I was a few feet away, he turned to face me, confusion etched across his face.
“The fuck you supposed to be?” he muttered, eyes dragging over me.
I let out a humorless chuckle. “Oh, you must be the dumbest motherfucker alive.”
I glanced at her door, jaw tight. She better not open that shit.
I stepped in closer, crowding him, my presence swallowing his. Letting him know exactly who the fuck he was dealing with.
“You got five seconds to tell me why the fuck you’re here before I rearrange your jaw, nigga.”
My tone was calm, controlled, and lethal.
His brows shot up as he stepped back, the reality of the situation finally catching up.
“She called me,” he said, trying to puff up like he had balls.
Wrong fucking answer.
Xalori wasn’t calling no nigga for shit. Not anymore. She had me now.
I yanked him off the door and shoved his scrawny ass over the porch railing, head-first. His legs flailed behind him as I held him like deadweight.
“You got two options,” I said, my voice ice-cold. “Walk away and forget this ever happened or get fitted for a casket.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. His eyes stretched wide, flicking between me and the door like he was reevaluating every life choice that led him here.
Good. Smartest shit he’d done all night.
Before he could say shit, the door cracked open, and there she was.
Xalori eyes spread wide open. That pretty-ass mouth parting like she had something to say, until she caught sight of me holding this man like a rag doll over her porch.
I smirked. “Hey, Muffin.”
Her gaze whipped between us, panic rising.
“Eason, what the hell—”
“Go inside.” My voice was sharp and deadly.
She hesitated. “Eason—”
“Inside. Now.”
She swallowed hard, glaring at me, but she listened. Even if she wanted to fight it, she knew better.
She disappeared behind the door. And I turned back to the nigga in my grip, my smirk dropping instantly.
“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” I muttered, releasing him with one final warning. “But if I see you again, your mama’s gonna be picking out flowers.”
I shoved him off me, watching him trip over his own damn feet as he bolted like a scared little boy.
I waited until he was gone, before jumping in my car and slamming the door behind me. Xalori stood in the doorway pissed, arms crossed, and eyes blazing. I smirked, letting my gaze drag over her body before I winked at her, my amusement only deepening when I saw her nostrils flare.
I cranked my engine and pulled off, gripping the wheel tight as I sped down the street, the tension in my body so thick it was damn near suffocating. I needed to fuck something. Hard.
But the only body I wanted was hers. She had no idea what she was doing to me. What kind of monster she was waking up.
I’d tried to be patient. Tried to play nice. But that was over. She was gonna get with the program. Or get dragged into it.
Because that woman was mine. And if she didn’t learn it gently, I’d fuck it into her.