Page 51 of The Black Wife Blessing

Benjamin thrashes harder, managing to spit at one of the officers. Big mistake. The cop's patience snaps like a twig.

"Bring the mask!" he shouts to his partner.

Aston raises his eyebrows. "Oh shit, this is getting good."

I can't help the smile spreading across my face as they wrestle Benjamin to the ground. He bucks and writhes like a caught fish, screaming obscenities that echo through the empty parking lot. It takes three officers to pin him down while the fourth retrieves a white mesh spit mask from the cruiser.

"No! You can't—" Benjamin's protests are muffled as they force the mask over his head.

"Cheers to that." I raise my bottle, clinking it against Leo's and Aston's. The satisfaction flowing through me is better than any alcohol.

"Never fuck with a Blackwood," Leo says, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

The cops haul Benjamin to his feet, his dignity in tatters along with his tough-guy act. He looks pathetic now, stumbling between the officers, the mask giving him the appearance of a captured animal.

"Get in the car!" an officer barks, shoving Benjamin's head down as they stuff him into the back seat.

"Think Monica would've enjoyed this show?" Aston asks.

I shake my head, finishing my beer. "Nah. She's too good for this. Too decent."

"Unlike us vindictive bastards," Leo laughs.

Benjamin makes one last attempt to resist, kicking at the door frame. The officers aren't having it. One grabs his legs while another pushes from behind. They fold him into the cruiser like he's nothing more than garbage being taken out.

"Looks like our entertainment for the evening is over, gentlemen," I say, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders.

I crush the empty bottle in my hand as the cruiser disappears around the corner, taking that piece of shit with it. The tension in my shoulders finally starts to unwind.

"That's that," Leo says, tossing his bottle into the nearby recycling bin with perfect aim. "Attempted murder, stalking, harassment, destruction of property. Fucker's going away for a long time."

"How long we talking?" I ask, already calculating the years in my head.

Aston straightens his designer jacket, looking more like a corporate shark than ever. "My buddy at the DA's office says with the evidence we've compiled, they're pushing for maximum sentences across the board. The brake tampering alone is worth seven to ten."

"Add in the prior harassment, the restaurant vandalism, those fucking photos he sent..." Leo counts on his fingers. "We're looking at fifteen, minimum."

A vicious satisfaction spreads through my chest. Fifteen years. Fifteen years of Monica being able to walk down a street without looking over her shoulder. Fifteen years to build our life together without his shadow hanging over us.

"DA owes me three favors," Aston adds with a smirk. "I'll make sure they don't offer any plea deals. Full prosecution."

"Fuck yeah." I clap Aston on the shoulder, feeling a surge of savage pleasure. "Worth every goddamn penny of those legal fees. I'd pay ten times that to see this through."

Leo checks his phone, scrolling through messages with a predatory smile. "Judge Harriman's on rotation next week. She's tough as nails on domestic cases. Benjamin picked the wrong fucking time to pull this shit. She once gave a guy twelve years for half of what this asshole's done."

The thought of Benjamin rotting in a cell while Monica thrives fills me with a satisfaction I've never felt before. This isn't just about revenge—it's justice. It's protection. It's making sure the woman I love never has to fear again. Every time I remember those photos he sent her, the way he tried to sabotage her career, how he made her constantly look over her shoulder—my blood boils all over again.

"To Benjamin," I raise an imaginary toast, my voice hard as steel. "May he enjoy prison food for the next decade and a half. And may every fucking day feel twice as long."

"To Benjamin," they echo, matching my dark humor, glasses of scotch raised in the air like we're celebrating a business deal instead of a man's downfall. But this is the best deal I've ever made—Monica's safety is non-negotiable.

35

MONICA

"You really don't need to do all this," I say, watching Henry fuss with my discharge paperwork. He's been hovering like a helicopter since this morning, barely leaving my side except to grab fresh clothes for me.

"I absolutely do need to do all this." Henry doesn't even look up from the clipboard. His jaw is set in that stubborn way I'm starting to recognize. "The doctor said you need to stay off that ankle for at least two weeks."

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