Page 122 of Chad's Chase
As for Sambo, I still haven’t screwed him. Nor was I any more attracted to him than I was two weeks ago. His hands were too big and callused, and disgustingly clammy all the time. He reminded me why I hated men.
I let him eat me once, but was pretty indifferent to his performance, so that was that. No more.
I tried not to be a bitch. Sambo was a nice guy. So obsessed with me that if I simply said “jump”, he’d ask “how high?”.
I had no ideawhyorwhenhe’d decided he was “in love” with me. The man didn’t even know me, yet he risked his life double-crossing two powerful opponents just to win me.
Hell, there were some serious mental cases in this world, boy.
Sambo was browsing a real estate website, viewing homes for sale and asking my opinion while sucking down a cup of coffee, when I blurted, “I don’t want to live in New Orleans anymore.”
The big hunk of a man paused, glanced over at me, brows pulling down. He seemed crestfallen, but instead of coaxing me out of my reasonless decision, he asked, “Where then?”
With a sip of my coffee, I shrugged. “Barbados?”
A slight raise of his brow now. “You ever been to Barbados?”
“No.”
“You ever seen pictures or videos of Barbados?”
“No.”
“So what makes you think you’ll like it there?”
“Because the name sounds nice,” I replied easily, fucking with him.
Cerulean blue eyes narrowed in on me, skeptic. Scooping up his cellphone from the table, he stood and walked off to his bedroom, dropping an “Imma call Org and let him know”.
Long after my coffee cup was empty, Sambo was still rumbling on the phone. I got up and barged into his room, and he stopped talking the minute I entered.
“I need to talk to him,” I said, holding my hand out for the phone.
He held the phone to his beefy chest, disinclined. “Why?”
“He’s myfather, isn’t he?”
Begrudgingly, Sambo slowly handed me the phone.
I put the cell to my ear, but said nothing. Heavy, controlled breathing streamed down the line.
“Jhay—”
“Why is there nothing on the news about them?” I asked. “Did you steal their bodies and cremate them like they never existed?”
A full minute of silence burned before he answered, “That is a private matter of The Organization.”
“Fuck your organization,” I rejoined. “Those two were all I had left. I deserve to know.”
Fifteen seconds of breathing down the line, then, “Yes. I took care of them.”
No one would miss Ricardo, because for everyone who knew him, he died twelve years ago. But Chad, he had friends and family who cared about him. He had establishments to run, an active life in San Francisco. His sudden disappearance off the face of the earth would raise questions soon. Make headlines. Because, aside from a soulless killer, Chadrick Niiveux wassomebody.
“He deserves a funeral,” I snarled. “His friends and family need to know he’s dead so they can mourn him.”
“I believe this is how Shadreek would have preferred things.”
“Don’t talk like you know him. You don’t!”
