Chapter Thirty-Two — Jamie
"You killed my sister, you dyke bitch."
The words bounced violently off the concrete walls.
Rage's head snapped toward the noise as Marcus Beaumont appeared at the railing above, pure murder in his eyes. His men flooded out behind him—seven, eight, ten of them—spreading out across the warehouse catwalks with their rifles drawn.
Rage’s face dropped. For a fraction of a second, you could see the naked fear. But women like Lady of Rage don't stay down for long. Her mask snapped right back into place.
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"Don't." Marcus's voice cracked like thunder. "Don't you fucking stand there and lie to me. I have the recording. I have the confession. I have her body. You killed my sister and buried her like trash."
Rage’s men shifted, hands hovering over their weapons. Surrounded, heavily outnumbered, and still ready to die for her.
Stupid.
"You," Rage spat, her eyes cutting a lethal glare over to me. "You did this."
"No, you did this when you tried to kill me. I just gave him the address." I shrugged, keeping my barrel leveled at her. "You did the rest yourself."
"This is between us," Marcus warned, stepping off the metal stairs. "Nobody else has to die tonight."
Rage laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "You think I'm gonna let you—"
"You don't got a choice."
That was Draeon.
"You tried to kill my sister, and you killed his," my brother said, tilting his head. "That means you walked into a room you can't walk out of. Either he kills you, or I do."
I almost smirked. I knew I could count on my brother for at least that much.
Rage’s gaze swept the warehouse. I watched her do the math in her head, trying to calculate a viable exit strategy.
It was impossible—not with her six men against Marcus's small army, Moses's people hidden in the shadows, my brother's goons blocking the side exit, and me and Draeon standing right in front of her with our guns aimed at her heart.
"All this for what?" she asked, her voice tight. "It wasn't personal. It's business."
I nodded. "Consider this business, too."
Rage’s hand twitched toward her hip.
"Don't," I warned.
She froze.
"You reach for that gun, and this room turns into a slaughterhouse," I said, offering her a cold, vicious smile. "Maybe you take one of us with you. But you still end up bleeding out on this concrete. Same as your men."
We heard Marcus when he moved—he closed the distance so fast nobody had time to react. Each heavy boot step echoed like a countdown. Rage watched him come. Her men watched. I watched. The whole warehouse held its breath.
He stopped right in front of her. Three feet apart. Close enough to touch.
"Why?" Marcus asked, his voice cracking on the word. "Why'd you kill her?"
Rage said nothing.
"Why?" The shout rattled the metal rafters.
And then, Rage smiled.
The way Marcus's face contorted let me know that smile was worse than anything she could have possibly said.
"Because I could," she said quietly. "Because nobody says no to me.
Not her. Not you. Not anybody. I built an empire on bodies, Marcus.
Hers is just one more." She tilted her head, her voice dripping with malice.
"She thought she could tell me what to do.
About my son. About what type of person I should be. And then she tried to leave me."
Marcus stared at her. The silence stretched for ten seconds. Twenty. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper, broken in a way that made my own chest ache.
"Delilah left Mississippi for you." He swallowed hard around the grief. "She loved you. She trusted you. And you put her in the ground like she was nothing."
"She was nothing without me." Rage’s eyes glittered. "The second she said she was leaving, she chose to become nothing."
Marcus didn't move. I thought—for one terrible second—that he might not move at all, that the sheer weight of the grief had swallowed him whole.
Then his fist connected with her face.
Bone on bone. Blood sprayed from her split lip. Rage staggered back but didn't even have time to fall before he hit her again. And again. And again.
"You don't get to say that!" he roared, his voice splintering apart. "You don't get to talk about her!"
Rage’s men instinctively reached for their waistbands.
"Don't." Draeon didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
They froze.
Marcus grabbed Rage by the throat and slammed her hard against a concrete support beam. Her feet literally left the ground. Her face was already swelling, blood dripping down her chin, but she was still wearing that horrible, knowing smirk.
He pulled out his sidearm and pressed the cold steel of the barrel directly against her forehead.
For a long moment, he didn't pull the trigger. His hand shook violently. His breath came in ragged gasps. His eyes searched her bloody face, desperate to find something—remorse, fear, anything that would make her human.
Rage just smirked back at him.
"Tell Delilah you're sorry when you see her," Marcus whispered.
He squeezed the trigger.
BANG.
The gunshot was deafening.
Rage’s body jerked once, then went entirely limp. Marcus held her pinned there for another long second, staring into her dead eyes as if searching for something he'd never find. Then he let go.
She hit the concrete with a wet thud. Fresh blood spread out beneath her head, mixing with the old, crusted stains on the floor.
Marcus stood over her corpse, his chest heaving, his hands trembling. For a moment, I thought the man might collapse right next to her.
Rage’s men stood frozen. Their eyes darted erratically between Marcus, Draeon, me, and the dozens of barrels pointed their way.
Marcus slowly looked up at them, his pistol still smoking. "Anybody else feel like dying for her tonight?"
Silence.
One of her men tightened his grip on his rifle. Marcus immediately snapped his gun up, aiming right between the guy's eyes.
"Think real hard before you make that decision."
The man swallowed hard. Nobody moved.
Marcus nodded once, lowering the weapon. "That's what I thought." He looked around the room, his lip curling in disgust. "Your boss is dead. Truth is, half of y'all probably wanted her dead anyway."
A few uncomfortable, shifting expressions answered him.
"Here's your chance." Marcus pointed a heavy finger toward the exit. "Walk away."
Nobody moved.
"Or don't."
The threat hung heavy in the air.
After a few agonized seconds, one of Rage’s men slowly bent down and set his weapon on the floor. Then another. Then another. Within moments, the concrete was covered in abandoned steel.
Marcus jerked his head toward the door. "Get the fuck out of my sight."
They didn't need to be told twice. The men filed out one by one, leaving their empire behind.
"Guess loyalty ain't what it used to be. My niggas would have never let that happen," Draeon bragged, slipping his hands into his pockets.
Marcus glared at him, then turned his dark stare to me. "Thank you," he said, his voice rough. He looked pointedly at Draeon, sensing the tension. "You need help with him?"
I shook my head. "I got it from here," I said, knowing that accepting a favor from Marcus Beaumont would only complicate my life later.
He jerked his head at his crew. Two of his men grabbed Rage by her arms and dragged her toward the exit, her heels scraping a long, bloody trail across the concrete. The heavy doors slammed shut behind them.
It was over. Just like that.
I realized I hadn't blinked in probably thirty seconds.
Draeon finally lowered his gun, exhaling a sharp breath. "Well… that was fucking interesting."
I didn't smile. My heart was still racing like a engine. "Go home, Draeon. Tell Daddy whatever lie helps you sleep at night. Tell him I'm dead. Tell him whatever you have to so he stops looking for me."
He stared at me for a long moment, his cold eyes hardening. Then he let out a low, bitter laugh.
"Eight years on the run and you're right back in front of me, Lola." He shook his head, stepping closer. "You just don't get it. You can't outrun family. Changing your name doesn't change your blood. You're gonna have to take one for the team."
I raised my Glock and pressed the barrel hard against his chest, right over his heart.
"I really ain't."
Draeon looked down at the gun biting into his designer sweater, then back up at my face. Something like respect finally flickered in his eyes.