Page 32 of A Boy Is a Gun: Part II
Ethan’s jaw ticks.“He’s clean?”
“Clean,” the other confirms.
I stand slowly, smoothing the wrinkles from my jacket, and glance over at him.“Disappointed?”He doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.My attorney soon joins me, along with Que and Roadie.
I take a step closer, keeping my voice casual.“Your sister is a party girl,” I say, and that’s enough to make him stop mid-stride.“She loves a good party, doesn’t she?Clubs, VIP sections, bouncing from one baller’s penthouse to the next...she’s real popular with the athletes.”
His shoulders tighten.His fist curls before he even realizes I’m watching.He forces it open again.“Be careful, Page.”
I hold up my hands.“I haven’t said anything wrong.Just what’s widely known.She’s got six figures worth of followers—hell, I could never be that popular.”
I let a beat pass.“I also hear she’s a bit of a peddler herself.Likes to party.A white girl peddling white girl...and egg rolls.”I shake my head like it’s a damn shame.“You’d think being in the police department, you’d want your whole family to ‘back the blue,’ fly the flag, play the game.But no.She walks around with product on her, and you don’t bat an eye.Guess it’s easier to chase the son of a senator—makes for a better headline.Gets you that promotion.Maybe even an Oprah special where you cry about choosing between your badge and your family.”
I lock eyes with him.“So, the real question is—what price are you willing to pay for that?”He lunges, and his partner blocks him.“Temper, temper,” I murmur.
“You wouldn’t destroy everything Taylor worked for just to get at me,” he says, smiling without warmth.“You wouldn’t be that stupid.”
I button my jacket.“We both know Taylor left me, so that little guilt trip wouldn’t do shit.But here’s a riddle for you...”I step in until the only thing stopping us is the human wall between us.“...what do you think will get your sister addicted quicker—my product or my dick?”
He lunges again, and I blow him a kiss.“You have a beautiful day, detective.”
A few minutes later, Makayla comes out from processing—hair brushed, back in her own clothes, phone already in hand.She spots me and walks over like we’re leaving a brunch date, not a holding cell.
“Thank you,” she says, kissing my cheek.
“Anytime,” I reply, loud enough for Ethan to hear.
“I’ll walk you out,” Ethan replies and he reassures Lisa he won’t try anything as every eye is now on our group.
We head for the exit, but I slow down until I’m shoulder-to-shoulder with him.“Three of the women you’d burn the world down to protect?Already in my pocket.Makayla.Jamie.And Taylor.”
His eyes cut to mine at that last one, and I see the recognition—the weight of her name.
“Your sister’s loyalty is mine.Your wife’s debt is mine.And Taylor—the girl Lamont trusted you to protect like blood—is living in my building, running a coffee shop I bankroll...under your nose.”
I let that sink in, then lean just a little closer.“And just to think...all of this is happening because you falsely arrested me the day Mia was born.”
His jaw works, but he says nothing.
I smirk.“I don’t just live in your head, detective—I own the deed.And the foundation.”
I start to leave, then pause and glance at the bail receipt in my hand.“Oh, and this?”I tap the paper.“Paid in full by my people.Which means every time your sister thanks me, every time she smiles at me...you’ll remember she’s free because of me.That’s a debt you’ll never erase.”
And with that, I step into the sunlight like I’ve just crossed another errand off my list.
~~~~~
WE DROP MAKAYLA OFF, and she’s glowing with gratitude, like I just pulled her out of a fire.She hugs me tight, thanks me twice, then disappears inside.Good.Gratitude is the first step toward loyalty.
Once she’s gone, I climb into Que’s SUV.He pulls out, quiet, the low hum of the engine filling the silence.
“I planted the crypto seed,” I tell him, buckling my seat belt.“Now we wait.Let her think it’s her idea.When she’s comfortable, she’ll bring herself right into the fold.”
Que nods, eyes on the road.“Got something else for you.”
He swipes on his tablet, showing me a 4K photo of a woman—brown skin, sharp cheekbones, hair piled up like she’s about to close a deal or ruin someone’s night.
“Stephanie,” Que says.“She’s tied to our mark.”
