“Royal!” I bring my eyes up to the door and see Devon, Isa’s best-friend walk through the door. I lean back in my chair lazily, an eyebrow raised.
“Devon.” I give him one of my grins as he takes a seat. “I don’t remember having a three o’clock appointment.”
“Funny.” He leans back in his chair, his jaw clenching. “I don’t remember having to book an appointment.”
“What can I do for you?” I glare at him, trying to hide the smug look on my face.
Smug because I know how much he must hate that Isa, the girl he’s been in love with for years, is bouncing on my dick now. I discretely readjust myself, squashing any thoughts of Isa ‘bouncin’ on my dick.’
Fuck.
“You can tell me why my cousin decided to marry my best friend.”
I can’t even stop the laugh that escapes me. “Ahh, knew that would be what you wanted.”
Devon leans on his elbow. “I’m serious, B. Why the fuck did you marry Isa. Has this got to do with me? You hate me that much, huh?”
I take back my earlier statement about Isa’s family being all fucked up. I can’t judge, my family would give them a run for their money. And we both have a lot of fucking money.
“Why would this have anything to do with you?” I ask, slightly insulted that he would think I gave a fuck about his existence enough to marry someone just for his discomfort.
He continues to glare at me from across the room. “Why, then?”
I lean forward, tapping on my computer keyboard. “A few reasons, none of which are any of your business. And by the way, why have you stopped talking to her?
You didn’t even make the wedding.” I grin, putting a cigarette between my teeth and sparking it up with my Zippo. “I’m rather insulted.”
“You don’t get insulted,” he answers deadpan. He’s right, I don’t, and I might be fishing for a reason to knock his teeth out just for shits and giggles because it’s been a long time since I’ve knocked someone the fuck out.
He gets up from his chair, throwing his hoodie over his head. “Bryant, you hurt her and I will kill you.”
Now, this would be the perfect time, but I’m too zen to give a fuck, so I smirk.
“Noted.”
He leaves like a sore loser who didn’t get the last cookie in the jar. And he didn’t.
He didn’t get any cookies in the jar because I don’t just own the cookies now, I own the jar and the whole damn kitchen. Typical Devon, needs reminding where his place is when he tries to come against me, which is about one hundred steps below.
The convenience of Devon being her roommate was too coincidental, but I didn’t plan it that way at all, and I wasn’t lying when I said that it had nothing to do with him. Because it has everything to do with her father. All I have to do now is make sure I don’t let that fucking smile or stupid fucking laugh get under my skin.
I watch as Isa bolted out the tent, shocked and distraught—and as she should. She just killed someone after all… my brother. This wasn’t part of the plan and Justin was supposed to keep himself under control. This time he chose wrong though because Isa was obviously a take no shit kinda girl. Good to know.
“Bryant, man, what are we going to do about this mess?” Isaac stressed, his face pale and his lips blue. It’s almost as if he was the one who killed him. Little bitch. I didn’t blame him though, the sight wasn’t an easy one to swallow.
“I have someone.” I tilted my head.
“You have someone?” Bobby scoffed, taking a seat on the bed in the far corner of the tent. His head drops to the palm of his hands while he started to rock gently. He was about to lose it, no doubt, but that was Bobby. Always was the one to flip out over the smallest of things, so yeah, this sight probably kicked up his ‘lose it’ meter a lot.
“Yes,” I hissed, looking at him. “Of course I fucking do.”
“How can you be so easy about this? This is your brother! I mean, I know that you both haven’t been very close since—ever but still…” Bobby continued, looking at the motionless body on the floor.
“Because I hated him.” I pulled out my phone and pressed call on The Reaper. He answered on the second ring.
“Royal. Well, I wish I could say that I was surprised, but I’m not.”
I blurted out the location of where we were and hung up my phone, looking back to Isaac. “He’s on his way. Once he’s done his job, and he’s very good at his job, I’ll get the crew to pack away this tent.”
“But you didn’t get the girl…” Isaac whispered, looking at me.
“No, I didn’t, but I will. She’s mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
13
Isa
My phone vibrating on my bedside table brings me out of my painting trance. I set up my easel right beside the glass window that overlooks downtown New York. I spent all day shopping for supplies because I couldn’t get my paint shipped from New Orleans and it be here on time. Tilting my head at the murky black shadows that I have painted on the canvas, I wipe my hands on a rag while answering my phone.
“Hello?” I’m still trying to figure out my new painting. It’s all dark shadows and blood when Devon’s voice shocks me out of my daze.
“Isa…”
“Devon!” I screech, looking down at my phone to see an unknown number displayed.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, boo. Can you talk?”
“I’m mad at you.” I place my brush back on the stand and walk to the large window.
“I know.”
“Really mad.”
He sighs. “I know.”
“Want to do lunch?” I ask, already slightly over my being mad at him.
“Sure. Donut King?”
I smile, my stomach rumbling at the thought of deep-fried goodness. “See you there soon.” Hanging up my phone, I have a quick shower and toss some jeans and a T-shirt on before slipping out of the penthouse and onto the busy street of downtown, of course, with Jerry and a couple MIB’s following very closely.
“Mrs. Royal,” Brian, Bryant’s driver gestures toward the black SUV. Brian and Bryant. Cute. Sounds like the beginning of a true bromance story. “I can take you where you need to go.”
I bite down my quirky thoughts. “Of course. Thank you.” Brian, who must be in his late fifties, opens the back door of the Range Rover, gesturing for me to get in.
I look back to Jerry and he nods, getting one of his men to get their car.
The drive to Donut King wasn’t long, like I had expected. I knew it wasn’t very far from where we were. He pulls up to the curb and gets out, opening my door.
I nod at him politely. “Thanks, Brian. I can text you when I need you to collect me.”
Brian cranks his neck until it clicks. “It’s no problem, Mrs. Royal. I can wait for you here.”
I still don’t know if or when I will ever get used to being ‘Mrs. Royal.’
I pause, watching him closely. “Bryant put you up to this, didn’t he?”
Brian gives me an apologetic smile. At least he looks a little bit sorry, even if he’s not. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You can call me Isa, Brian.” He shuffles slightly. “Unless it makes you more comfortable calling me Mrs. Royal?”
He nods. “I’m afraid I feel more comfortable referring to you as that.”
Patting his arm, his big, strong arm, I reply, “Okay, and I will try not to be long.”
He shakes his head. “Take as long as you need.” Then I turn around and walk into the large purple store. The smell hits me instantly, deep-fried pastries sprinkled in warm cinnamon and brown sugar then dipped in chocolate syrup, maybe. Oh, or caramel syrup. My stomach grumbles loudly, making it known just how hungry I am. Damn, I feel as though I’ve died and gone to heaven. I see Devon’s back facing me and my heart rate picks up again. Coming up behind him, I quickly wrap my arms around his neck from behind and he instantly jolts up from his chair in surprise, picks me up, and spins me around.
“Hey, trouble…” he whispers into the crook of my neck.
I relax, all my nerves contracting as I let out a long sigh. “Hey, mischief.”