Page 31 of Forced Matrimony With An Unhinged Menace 3

“Mallory did what?” I said, my chest going tight.

“Where yo bitch ass baby daddy at?” I barked, stepping closer to her.

“I don’t know,” she said, crying, “but I’m supposed to get my son from him today. He’s probably been calling me. Please, let me do this. Let me call my best friend, have her go get my son. He’ll be safe with her, please don’t hurt him. I can have Demon meet her someplace public. Then y’all can follow him and do whatever you need to do. Just please, let my baby be out of this whole thing.”

I looked at my brothers. We all nodded at each other without saying a word. I’d handle Mallory later, and the grimy bitch was definitely getting handled. Today, I needed Demon dead for everything he’d already taken from this family.

We powered her phone on, and I called her friend on speaker first, Brit acted normal, and asked if she could keep Sonny for her today and pick him up from his dad. The friend agreed easy, no questions. Then I dialed Demon’s number myself, made sure Mallory understood not to try nothing funny while I held that phone up to her face.

He picked up on the second ring, already going off before she said a word.

“Bitch, where the fuck are you? I been calling you all day. I got shit to handle and I can’t do it while I’m stuck with my son. What’s up? I need to drop him off now.”

“I got tied up with clients, nigga,” Mallory said, her voice shaking but holding steady enough to sell it. “Miracle said she can meet you in an hour, Trader Joe’s, North Dallas.”

“You done made me late for a whole meeting,” he snapped. “Don’t ask me for shit else for a minute with yo deadbeat ass.” He hung up before she could say anything back.

Me and my brothers were out that house within minutes, headed toward the spot he was about to make the handoff.

We pulled up and waited a while before it went down. Demon handed his son over to the friend, then pulled off out that parking lot like a bat out of hell. We followed him, staying back far enough that he ain’t have no idea we were behind him.

After close to an hour of trailing him through the city, he ended up pulling into one of our own warehouses.

My whole body went still.

What was this nigga doing? Had he found this location trying to figure out a way to jack us, not even knowing he was about to walk himself straight into his own death?

I made sure we were all strapped before we got out the car. Ain’t nobody had to say a word between us. Me and my brothers already knew exactly what we were about to do. Today was the day this nigga finally would met his maker. All that chasing, all this time of him hiding, it was finally ending.

He parked and walked inside. We parked further down the street and moved in on foot, quiet, careful, checking every angle before we got close.

As we neared the entrance, I heard voices coming from inside.

One of them sounded like my mother’s.

My whole chest tightened up hearing that, confusion hitting me so fast I almost stopped walking altogether. She knew it was smoke with this nigga, so I knew damn well she wasn’t going behind us on some peacemaker shit trying to make amends. We ain’t roll like that, and she knew it. We eased through the first set of doors quiet as we could manage, and the voices got clearer the closer we crept.

“Lower your gun, son. I promise you on my life this isn’t a setup.”

“Bitch, you must think I’m crazy.” That was Demon, his voice cracking with rage. “You the wife and the mother of the muthafuckas I’m at war with right now. This a trap, and I’m finna blow your whole shit back.”

“No. I mean, yes, but that’s not what this is. I’m your mother. Look.” Her voice broke clean in half right there. “Here’s the letter you sent through that ancestry website. I have it right here in my hand. ZC, that’s my initials. I’m Zuri Carter. I didn’t get to name you myself, but I did the research. Your name, the one your first adoptive parents gave you, was Demontae Sullivan. Your adoptive mother passed from cancer when you were only three years old. That birthmark under your eye, that’s how I always told myself I’d find you again one day. You were born September 3rd, 1998. 2:03 in the afternoon. It was a Friday.”

Namier and Zaire both froze beside me, and I felt my own feet stop moving underneath me.

What the fuck was going on.

We didn’t wait to see nothing else, didn’t wait to check the room or think another second on it. We burst through that second set of doors, guns already raised, every instinct in our bodies screaming at once. I don’t know what kind of sick game my mom’s was playing with him, but we were about to lay his ass down.

My mother was standing directly in front of Demontae, her hands thrown up between us and him, putting her whole body between our guns and his.

“Wait, please, don’t do this,” she said, turning back toward us, eyes wide and wet and pleading. “You cannot shoot him. This is your—”

To be continued…..