𝘾𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨
﹥━━━━━━━━━━﹤

For once in my life, I have no plan. It's been paining me that I can't go about things as brutish as I'd like - with my fists. If I had it my way, I'd take all these assholes down, they'd be behind bars for the rest of their lives or dead.

I have to be smarter this time. Clearly, someone's gotten the one-up on me. Not anymore.

How can I want to marry Morgan with all of this, and expect a child? And if Hayes is mine, why would I want to be responsible for raising him when this is the life I live?

I'm not a coward, so I don't want to run. However, I have Morgan to think about, so I can't just keep putting her— us— at risk. I know it's not my fault but sometimes it takes me a while to realize that.

It's funny, Morgan and I know we're soulmates, but if we are, then why did our love have to come with all of this excitement? Yeah let's call it that.

I say all the time that it's our karma.
Malcom was a piece of shit, but he was an uncle to me, sometimes even a father. So maybe taking his girlfriend was wrong, and I didn't just sleep with her. What I did was worse, way worse: I fell in love with her.

Sometimes I do wonder what my life would be like now, if I never met Morgan. Err, if I just let her stay with Malcolm, and minded my business.
Well, I probably wouldn't be putting my degree to use. It would just be a declaration that I played D1 basketball, battled borderline alcoholism, experimented with drugs at themed frat parties, and slept with sorority girls for five straight years.

Wallowing in the shallow end of the pool that I've hardly touched since we moved in, I let out a sigh.

Morgan's voice disrupts me from my thoughts, but that's a good thing, I'm sure steam was coming out of my ears at this point.

"—There he is, a wild Chris in his unnatural habitat," she jokes in an Australian accent.

I just laugh through my nose, watching her crawl around the pool with a digital camera in her hand.

"Latin name: Chrisopilgus Vaughopha. He's typically a cold blooded killer, now a lazy river-dweller; probably full after a nice, home-cooked meal by his lifelong mate." She goes on, leaving me amused.

"Funny." I chuckle, rising out of the pool.

Morgan puts the camera on the lounge chair and trades it for a towel that she greets me with.

"What are you doing, you didn't ask me if I wanted to go for a night swim?" She gives me a hard time, drying off my chest.

I take the towel and wrap it around my lower body, only thanking her with eye contact.

Inhaling, I slightly move her body out of the way so I can sit on the reclining chaise.

Morgan sits on the edge of the chair and looks me in the eyes for an answer to her question.

"Needed some air," I reply, letting out a deep breath.

"What are you thinking about?" She asks me through a soft tone.

When I hesitate to answer, Morgan says, "Tell me."

"Why do you still love me?" The words fly out of my mouth.

Her eyelashes flutter. I watch her eyes and see a gleam in them, but I tell myself it's just the reflection from the pool light.

She laughs. "I don't know."

"Wow." I mumble.

Morgan stops me from getting up and leaving.

Her laughter makes me raise an eyebrow.

"I'm not going to feed your ego and say how much and why I love you solely to cheer you up right now. You know I'm not going anywhere." She talks with a smile that fades as she stands.

Holding her hand out for me to take, she says, "Now come to bed."

I wake up the morning feeling better than how I went to bed. Morgan just held me all night, we watched that movie with Sandra Bullock where she marries the guy so she can stay in America. I'd never seen it before but Morgan's seen it a million times and still laughs like it's the first time.

To thank her for holding me down last night— and, well, throughout this whole relationship— I decide to make her breakfast and take it to her while she's in bed.

I woke up at seven even though it's a Saturday. I just couldn't sleep. Morgan could, though, and peacefully it seemed. So, I don't wake her or bother to start breakfast just yet, this way she can sleep in.

✕

9:43am

I'm just getting back from my run when I see Morgan pacing in the sunroom as I approach the house.

I pull my headphones off and catch my breath as I open the screen door.

"Hey baby." I greet Morgan with a kiss on the head.

She looks nervous. Instinctively, I hold her elbow and look her in the eyes.

"What, what's wrong?" My tone intensifies.

She flails her arms. "I just got off of the phone with Celestial Financial Group, they said Malcolm doesn't have any money."

"If he doesn't have any money, does that mean we—" I start to panic, thinking we've lost access to that money.

Morgan shakes her head calmly. She wets her lips before saying, "No, I put what was left into our business account weeks ago, it's good."

Phew. I'm relieved and can breathe again.

With a head nod, I encourage Morgan to go on.

She blinks rapidly like she's trying to understand the words she's about to say.
"They said his balance is negative and he actually owes an investor, like, hundreds of thousands of dollars."

"Negative? Hundreds of thousands? How—What investor?" My questions come at Morgan fast as lightning.

She hands me a piece of paper that she's written on.

"It's the name of the group the banker gave me, said it's a private company?" Morgan sounds unsure.

I read her handwriting:

Slaughter & Son Co.

"It's Tate." I immediately figure it out.

"Tate?" Morgan questions me.

I flick the paper across the floor and start to pace.

Tossing my head back, I ball my fists and swing my hands together.

"Fuck! How did I not put this together sooner?!" I curse aloud.

"Stupid," I scold myself, "stupid, stupid, stupid."

"Chris, tell me what's going on." Morgan waits to be filled in.

I hang my head and let out a deep, frustrated breath.

"Tate, son of Raymond Slaughter - millionaire. Asshole." I grumble, gripping the back of the chair.

"How did I never know his last name?" Morgan utters, looking up blankly.

"That doesn't matter," I quickly tell her. "What else did the bank say?"

"Just that someone's going to have to pay Slaughter." She shrugs obliviously.

I lift my head slowly and roll my eyes to Morgan.

"Someone? You mean you?" I scoff.

She immediately furrows her eyebrows. "I'm not responsible for his debt."

"Technically you are, he made you sign those papers."

"Well he's dead, the debt should be waived or something. I don't know, but I'm not paying Tate's dad." Morgan insists, arms folded over her chest.

A moment of silence falls between us but it doesn't last long.

Together, Morgan and I are struck with what I'm sure is the same thought.

Morgan gasps and we meet each other's gaze.

"That's who I owe!" She realizes.

"Of course!" I exclaim, but not out of joyous excitement.

"Clapper— what if Malcolm made that account and got me involved in this as a way to make him money and pay off the debt? I remember he was going broke and tried taking back everything he got me."

"That would explain why your pictures are selling and how so many of those guys know you..." I figure.

"What about Tate, though, you two were friends?"

I clench my jaw. "Keep your enemies closer, right?" I quote the saying.

"Well, this is a good thing, isn't it? I mean, can't you just go tell Tate and his dad we don't have that type of money?"

"If they know Malcolm, they probably know how he died, Annie..."

"And?" She rolls her neck.

I exhale through my nose. "And they could take us to court, take our house, whatever the fuck they want. If Malcolm really owes them, that means you have to pay them."

"I'm sure we could work something out."

"I don't know if they'll want to come to some fucking mutual agreement. Something tells me this isn't going to end with a handshake."

"What if we give them the money?" Morgan sighs.

"What, no? Fuck no, actually!" I object.

She paces, throwing her hands up.

"What choice do we have? I mean, do you have a better idea?"

"That money is ours. I'll be damned if I let Raymond or his incel son have it."

"Wait," Morgan pauses for a beat.

"What?" I calm down after getting worked up for a second there.

"Tate's dad is a millionaire, I doubt he's worried about anything less than that." She assumes.

"Maybe, but he's greedy, babe. What are you tryna say?" I rush her to her point.

"I don't think this is about the money." Morgan gulps, "I think it's me they want."

✕

"—It's not too late to change your mind," I talk to Morgan on the phone.

"Do you have a better plan?" She asks me through an annoyed tone.

I suck my teeth in the driver seat as I try to lay low.

"No, but I'm sure I can think of one that doesn't involve us having to breakup."

"For the fifth time, Christopher, we're not really breaking up."

"It feels like it."

"We want them to think I'm single so they'll try to make a move. The last time me and you were on a break, Tate and Ben made a move quickly." She explains although it doesn't make me feel any better.

"I don't care if this ends peacefully, remind me to kill both of them."

"Are you there, yet, Chris?" She gets fed up and changes the topic.

"Yeah," I answer, looking at the ominous building, "we're here."

"Be careful, okay?" Her soft voice soothes me.

I nod like she can see me.

"We're just going to talk, see if we find anything, and we'll get out of there. You be safe, too."

"Always. Bye." She rushes me off the phone and hangs up.

I let out a breath and linger my gaze on her contact picture in my phone.

"You good, bro?" Asks Jabari.

I clear my throat. "Yeah, let's go."

Jabari and I hop out of my Tesla and approach Slaughter & Son Company headquarters.

We quickly look both ways before marching across the street.

"How they even get all this money?" JB asks me about the Slaughters.

I hunch my shoulders. "Don't know, I never asked. I just know Raymond's some sort of investor."

"Hm." Jabari hums, trailing me inside.

Upon entering, we're greeted by the receptionist.

"Can I help you?" She talks with a grin.

Jabari and I hesitate but walk over to her desk.

"We're here for Tate," I let her know. "We're good friends."

"I'm sorry, Tate's gone for the day. He might be at the go-"

"The golf course? Yeah, we know. Is there any way we can go up to his office?" I ask, leaning in.

She looks at Jabari and then at me and removes her small framed glasses.

"I can't let you do that."

"Nicole," Jabari reads her name tag to charm her and it works.

She blushes.

"Come on," JB says, "we just want to surprise our boy. What do we have to do to get you to say yes?"

"I really shouldn't..." she whispers.

Jabari leans in closer. "You have beautiful eyes, Nicole. I'm sorry, they're distracting me. Wow."

"Let's go, bro, she's not cool like the other front desk girl." I make something up.

"Oh, her? She was cute." Jabari backs up from Nicole once he catches onto me.

"What other receptionist? Was it JaNa, she is not cool or cuter than me?" Nicole proclaims.

"She let us go up to Tate's office the other day, didn't even make us sign in or anything." I lie.

"You guys are pretty close to Tate, huh?" Nicole guesses.

Jabari and I nod in unison.

"I can't walk you up there but the passcode is 4434, okay? You have to be out of there in fifteen."

"What's in fifteen minutes?" I ask.

Nicole looks around and then swallows hard when she spots a camera on the ceiling.

"You don't want to be here in fifteen minutes." Her answer makes Jabari and I also look up at the camera and then slowly step backward from the front desk.

In the elevator, Jabari and I are accompanied by three women. They were all brunettes with similar body shapes and dressed in rather suggestive office attire - mini skirts, half unbuttoned tops, full faces of makeup, and uncomfortably high heel and stockings.

"You new here?" The one in the middle asks me.

"You wish." I tell her and she smirks, facing the front of the elevator.

Jabari looks at me and then starts to smirk as well.

The busty one in front of Jabari stares up at him once the elevator doors open.

"See you around?" She asks him.

He doesn't say anything, just wets his lips and watches her walk away.

The girls giggle as they watch us get shut inside the elevator to go up another floor.

"Is it just me or does everyone that work here look like a porn star?" Jabari jokes, following me onto the fourth floor.

"It's not just you," I assure him. "and I'm sure it was on purpose."

"You think they fucking Tate's dad?" Jabari assumes, his eyes large with wonder.

"I don't think that, but I wouldn't be surprised. If Raymond's connected to Malcolm, and all this has something to do with that goddamn Clapper app, then they're definitely not working here because they want to."

"You said Tate's dad is an investor, maybe they the investments." Jabari says what I'm thinking, referring to the girls as escorts.

We casually maneuver around the office, not drawing any attention to ourselves until we find the door with Tate's name on it.

4434

The passcode works.

Inside, I tell J to look for whatever might point us to Malcolm's account, Morgan, or anything.

We search through file after file and I got nothing.

I've been careful not to make a mess over the past ten minutes, and Jabari's hardly moved. I noticed he was stuck in the corner by an open filing cabinet.

"What you got?" I ask him.

He slowly turns on his heels to face me. His face still, eyes unmoveable.

"Bro, what?" I actually get nervous, seeing him so stiff and spaced out. It isn't like him, especially to be so quiet.

Since he was uncooperative, I take the file from his hands and look for myself.

"Shit." I curse as a reaction to reading the name.

Jasmine Klein

I don't want to look, but I can't stop myself from exploring the file. It's pretty extensive, too, well over twenty documents inside the folder.

There's photographs, some candid as if they were paparazzi photos. They've been watching her.

Also, there's background checks, fingerprints, logs of her day-to-day activity, a page on her dating history, STD results, and a strand of her natural hair.

Well, if I wasn't creeped out by her and Tate's "relationship" before. . .

Suddenly, there's someone at the door, they're trying to get in with a key.

"Here." I give JB the file to put back but he stuffs it into his jeans behind his back.

As quickly as we can, we try to act casual like we don't care if someone catches us in Tate's office because we're doing nothing wrong.

"Tate!" J and I exclaim once the door opens.

"Finally, man, we've been waiting for you-" I get cut off.

"I'm not Tate," a gruff voice speaks.

It's Mr.Slaughter.

"Oh, we were expecting Tate, sir." Jabari awkwardly laughs on purpose.

"He's not here. No one is supposed to be here at this time."

"Why not?" I ask.

"We close for a couple of hours for meetings, now if you'll excuse me-"

"I actually wanted to talk to you, too, Raymond." I call him by his first name to establish that I'm his equal.

"My office." He leads, exiting Tate's.

Down the hall, we near a pair of double doors, kept by two blondes in mini dresses.

"Ladies..." Raymond greets them.

"Hi, Mr.Slaughter," they sing back.

I tilt my head at them, they just look at me with stars in their eyes. Or at least, that's how it looks by the way they look me up and down, lip-biting and chewing their nails.

"Only you, Chris." Raymond makes clear.

"I'll be waiting right here." Jabari tells me.

I nod my head at him before following Raymond into his lair.

"Why do I always find you sneaking around, Chris?" He guffaws, taking a seat in his chair.

"I don't know, sir."

He sits behind the desk and adjusts the Chopard watch on his wrist.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

There's dainty knocks at the door.

"What is it?" He shouts.

One of the blondes from before enters.

"S-Sorry, Mr.Slaughter. It's Ben, he's on line two. Says it's urgent." She informs her boss.

What is Ben doing calling Raymond? And why is it urgent?

"Excuse me while I take this." Raymond tells me, picking up the phone.

I try to listen but they're talking in code.

Bored, I get up to have a look around the office.

Same old shit, nothing of interest to me.

I spot a filing cabinet but it's locked.

On it, though, photos of Raymond's only son - Tate.

It's a trifold frame with one photo of Tate at his college graduation, one from his high school lacrosse senior night, and a baby photo. There's another portrait there, too, another baby picture but this one looks more recent - higher quality, a more modern clothing brand sported by the infant in the picture.

At first, I glance away, thinking nothing of it except how proud Raymond must be of the heir to his company.

Then, I'm suddenly drawn to the baby picture.

I look at it again, and then once more, to affirm what I'm thinking.
That looks an awful lot like Hayes.

My eyes dart between both photos of the babies, trying to make sense of this.

Surely I'm tripping because why would Raymond have a picture of my son - Sabrina's son?

While Raymond lays out Ben over the phone, I take the time to remove the picture from the frame.

Flipping it over, I read the paragraph that was handwritten:

Ray,
Doesn't he look just like Tate when he was a baby? Mom says it's uncanny. I didn't know what you were thinking when you wanted me to get pregnant by him but I believed it would all work out for us. Take care of your grandson while I'm in here even after all this is over.

Hayes V̶a̶u̶g̶h̶n̶ Slaughter
7lbs 8oz

Love,
Sabrina Marissa