enlightening discoveries about Mecca kept pouring in. Could there be any truth to what these men were saying about my wife being a hit-woman, or was I surrounded by a bunch of drug-dealing conspiracy theorists?
Mecca was a firecracker. There was no doubt about that, but an assassin? In a way, you needed to be a killer in this line of work, but Mecca’s men gave me the sense that she was much more.
Talking to the men was allowing me to gain more of a sense of how they functioned, as well as giving me insight as to how Mecca operated. Observing them closely with an outside eye, I could tell that most, if not all of them, would die for her.
After the shoe tossing incident, I expected that they would have calmed down, but the one that wanted a one-on-one talk with her wasn’t done. His body language and the way he ogled her insinuated that they had slept together.
He obviously wanted more, and she didn’t. He’d also had a sample of the one thing I was obsessing over. For that alone, I was ready to rip his spine out and hang it on the coat rack.
Mecca fingered her necklace, running her fingers delicately across it like it soothed her nerves. I was starting to notice that it was a habit for her. The silver necklace with the little solid circular pendant was one she never took off.
I stalked closer to them, fully aware that Mecca could handle herself, but unable to stop myself from wanting to protect her anyway. I didn’t like the way the man kept undermining her orders, that in my opinion, were solid and well-planned enough to be followed.
Now, he was in her face, and they were in the mix of a heated debate about the age requirements of the runners. She didn’t want them using anyone under eighteen. This was a respectable rule, since I had seen how young children and teens were eaten alive from getting involved in the street life too soon.
The man, Marshawn, obviously wanted to be more than he was in Mecca’s life, and if I knew anything about my wife, she would stand her ground on the matter. She’d put those sexy heels back on and stood a few inches shorter than the stocky man.
Their argument commenced, and neither noticed that I had edged closer to them, my stringent gaze locked on the man, studying his every move. His face grew incensed at some law she was laying down with one of her manicured nails aimed at his face.
When he gripped her wrist, I lost it. I was in his face so fast that I couldn’t recall how I’d gotten there.
“If you don’t take your fucking hand off my wife, the coroner is going to have to suck your body parts up with a fucking vacuum.”
The cutting edge of my voice, and my heaving breaths blowing against his face caused the man to raise his hands and back away from Mecca and me. Her brows lifted and remained that way as she cast a curious expression in my direction.
“Man, chill. We were just having a fucking discussion,” he stated, his hard glare colliding with mine.
A growl rumbled from deep within my chest as I glared at him with murder racing through my soul. He had common sense enough to remove himself from my view. He walked away, glaring back and no doubt wanting to put a bullet in me.
“Man, that big white motherfucker was about to rip your damn head off your shoulders and eat it,” one of the men told Marshawn before I turned my attention to Mecca.
Instead of the discipline I expected for stepping into her business, she flashed me a sly smile.
“How badly do you need him?” I asked her, staring after Marshawn again.
“What do you mean?” Her gaze followed mine.
“He put his hands on you, and all I can think about is ripping his throat out.”
Realization shined in her eyes, and a trace of something wicked flashed before a delicate smile breezed across her tempting lips.
“He has a mouth on him, but he’s one of the hardest workers I have. We had a thing, once, not even a full night. We were young. I let go, and he hasn’t, but it doesn’t change that he does good work. He’s also saved my life on more than one occasion. He’s like my trusted advisor. Tells me the shit I need to hear, versus what I want to