23. Greer #3
By the time Ezinne stops responding, we're both covered in fresh blood and breathing hard.
The violence has become foreplay, each brutal act ratcheting tension higher.
Every time Zaria calls me "good boy" for a particularly vicious hit, every time I watch her slice through flesh with surgical precision, the desire builds.
"We'll come back for her," Zaria says finally, pull out her phone. "Cain, we got confirmation. Vaughn's the traitor. Where is he?"
The response comes through tinny but clear enough to hear. "Spotted him ten minutes ago heading toward the Hillside apartments. Want me to intercept?"
"No. Hold position. We're coming."
She hangs up and looks at me, amber eyes blazing with fury and purpose. "Can you move?"
The honest answer is barely. The splinted fingers throb, my ribs feel like they're grinding with each breath, and exhaustion is pulling at the edges of my consciousness. But Vaughn sold us out. Vaughn gave them the plans that led to my capture and torture.
"I can move." I push to my feet, using the support beam for balance. "Let's go kill a traitor."
The Hillside apartments are familiar territory—I've been here for pickups, walked these halls while Zaria conducted business. Knowing someone in her crew betrayed that trust makes rage burn hotter than pain.
Cain's waiting in the parking lot with two other soldiers. He takes one look at me and shakes his head. "You should be in a hospital."
"Hospital can wait." I accept the Glock he hands me, checking the magazine with my good hand. "Where is he?"
"Third floor, apartment 3F. He's packing a bag, probably planning to run." Cain's expression is grim. "Zaria, your call. Fast or slow?"
"We handle this ourselves." Zaria's already moving toward the entrance. "Keep the building secure. Nobody in or out."
The climb to the third floor is agony. Each step jars my ribs, sends fresh waves of pain through damaged tissue. But I push through because Vaughn needs to die, and I need to be the one to pull the trigger.
Zaria kicks the door to 3F open and we flood inside, weapons drawn. Vaughn spins from where he's throwing clothes into a duffel bag, eyes going wide when he sees us.
"Zaria, I can explain?—"
"Explain how you sold out your crew?" Zaria's voice is ice. "Explain how you gave Okafor our plans? Explain how Greer got tortured because of information you provided?"
Vaughn's gaze darts between us, looking for escape routes that don't exist. "Chisom offered me territory. A real chance to run my own operation instead of being muscle for Malcolm's daughter."
"Malcolm's daughter who kept you employed, fed your family, protected your territory." Zaria advances slowly, each step deliberate. "And you sold me out for promises from a man who would've killed you the second you stopped being useful."
"Better than waiting for you to fail!" Vaughn's fear turns to anger. "You're not your father, Zaria. You're a girl playing at running an empire, and everyone knows it. I just got out before you collapsed everything Malcolm built."
The dismissal in his voice—the contempt—makes my trigger finger itch. This is the crew member who questioned Zaria's authority in meetings, who undermined her at every turn while pretending loyalty.
"You gave them Greer's position." I step forward, letting Vaughn see exactly what his betrayal cost. "You told them where we'd be, how we'd approach, when to strike. He got taken because of you."
"And?" Vaughn sneers. "You're just some civilian she's fucking. Why should I care what happens to you?"
That's the last thing he ever says.
Zaria and I fire simultaneously—two headshots that turn Vaughn's skull into red mist. His body drops before he can register death, the duffel bag spilling clothes across the floor. Blood spreads across cheap carpet in a growing pool.
The gunshots echo in the small apartment, then silence. Just our breathing and the ringing in my ears.
Then Zaria's on me.
She slams me against the wall hard enough to make my ribs scream, but I don't care because her mouth is on mine and she's kissing me like she wants to consume me. Her hands fist in my blood-soaked shirt, pulling me closer despite the damage to my body.
I kiss back with equal desperation, tasting blood—mine, hers, Ezinne's, doesn't matter. My good hand tangles in her braids while the splinted one presses against her hip, needing contact even if I can't grip properly.
"You were perfect," she gasps against my mouth, grinding against me. "So fucking perfect down there."
"You make me want to be." The admission comes out raw, honest. "Everything you call me good for, I want to do again."
"Good boy." She bites my already split lip and I groan, the pain and pleasure mixing into something overwhelming. "My good boy who kills for me."
Vaughn's body is three feet away, blood still spreading. We should move, should clean up, should do a dozen tactical things. But neither of us can stop, the adrenaline and violence and relief crashing together into desperate need.
Zaria yanks at my belt with shaking hands and I help despite the screaming pain in my ribs. My jeans hit the floor and then her hand wraps around my cock, stroking rough and demanding.
"Fuck, Zaria?—"
"Against the wall." It's an order, and I obey because that's what I do with her commands. "Need you inside me right now."