by Amarie Avant
Todd Welsh leaned against the door leading to the bedroom. He was five-foot-seven, but Blake’s old employee was now cut and ripped with muscles from his new prison life. He shook her cell phone in his hand. “Blake won’t stop calling. He never had a worry in his life until he stole you from a dead man.”
Ever so slowly, Mila turned around in her seat, hands clutched at her sides.
“No, don’t get up. I got it.” Todd wiped at his bifocals while answering the call.
Mila could hear the relief in Blake’s voice as he spoke. “Mila, shit, I’ve called you—”
Mila opened her mouth to speak, but Todd hung up.
“Actually, I have nothing to say to him. Blake has everything but guess which one of his possessions he loves the most.” He chuckled, eyeing her crazily.
She didn’t even blink.
“C’mon, beautiful. The obvious answer is you. He’ll call back. Next time, I’ll tell him that I’m getting ready to screw every orifice of his woman’s body and murder her. Shit. That fell flat.” Todd bit his thumb in thought. “Or should I say, ‘I’m just about to fuck your bitch in the ass, and then murder her.’ I like that better. It’s metaphoric, you know, Mila? You will understand how it feels to have your shit pushed in too. And then I’ll squeeze your neck until your eyes pop out.”
Her skin burned with fury, and Mila saw herself attacking him. But could she gain the upper hand against a man who had spent the last few years in jail?
The phone rang again. Todd gave a devilish grin as it rang. “This is supposed to be fun, Mila. You haven’t confirmed which phrase I should say to your boyfriend. Time’s running . . .” He started as the phone continued to ring. With an unblinking gaze, Mila watched as it rang. Then the room was engulfed in silence. Todd shook his head. “Out. Oh, time has run out.”
He tossed the iPhone on the marble floor, and it cracked and scattered into pieces. His prescription glasses continued to fog, due to the heat of the bathroom. He took them off and placed them in his pocket. He started slowly toward her like a lion stalking its prey.
“We were just about to see how much he loved you, gauge it by the promises to murder me and the threats to take me out! But you didn’t help me, Mila. I’m socially inept these days, and you didn’t help me select the proper wording to dig under his skin.”
“Leave now.” Mila was surprised by how strong and confident her voice was. “Leave, Todd, or I will kill you.”
“Do you know what it’s like to become someone’s bitch in jail? Excuse me, not someone—let’s make it plural. Big fuckers, rancid smell of cock, it does something to you.” He paused for a moment. “Remember that friend of yours, Clarissa?”
Now he was inches away, she could smell the sweat on him—and a strong scent of iron. Mila looked down. Instantly, bile shot up her throat, burning her esophagus. She choked it all back down. Glancing down had been a mistake. Red splatters of fresh blood were on his boots.
“Do you remember your friend?” He repeated himself, caressing her cheek.
Mila slapped at his hand. He slapped her back. The hit was enough to send a burst of stars across her eyes, but she knew he was holding out on her. With his thick biceps, Todd could slap her unconscious if he wanted.
“Yes,” she snapped. “Clarissa moved away. Got a job in another state after you went to jail. You cheated on her. You fucked her over and your friend, Blake!”
“Oh yeah?” He chuckled. “So, like I said, I had a few things happen to me, unspeakable things that Clarissa never let me do. Diane’s ass wasn’t all that tight. But we’ll see if yours is.”
He pressed his hand between her legs. Todd groaned as his coarse fingers skimmed the inside of her thigh. “Does Blake’s little whore stay wet all the time?”
Mila shook as the muscles in her legs forced themselves closed. His fingers were rough, hard as he tried to push her panties over. Todd leaned down to kiss her. Mila’s left hand targeted his face, within her fist was tiny eyebrow scissors. It was the only weapon she had at her disposal. The only thing she could readily grab. With all her might, she stabbed him in the cheek. The sharp blade dove into his skin like butter, stopping only because of his molars.
He clawed at his face, yanking the scissors out, leaving a gush of blood in its wake. “Grrr. Fuck!”
There was no way she’d become a statistic. The woman who fought back and almost got away only to be caught. Mila aimed for his cock. She kneed him straight in his jewels. Set on fight mode, Mila grabbed a vase of lilies. She stood up, raised the vase high and slammed it down on top of his head.
Todd crumpled to his knees.
Finish him. The thought popped into Mila’s head to finish off Todd, knock him out or even kill him maybe, but her legs were rooted to the ground.
Jesus, help me! Mila began to sidestep him, eyes on the bathroom exit.
But Todd’s hand reached out, clutching her thigh, and he tugged her toward him. Mila’s feet flew up in the air. She landed on her ass with a thud. Then Todd was on top of her.
BLAKE
Slow the fuck down. Blake mentally warned himself as the tires of his car glided across the asphalt. About ten yards ahead, a Spanish woman, in running shorts and a sports bra, was just starting off the sidewalk. His hand slammed down on the center of the wheel.
HONK. HONK.
She had earphones in. And the person in the car at the stop sign thought he’d sneak a right turn before she finished jogging across the street.
But Blake couldn’t wait. There was not enough room to drive behind the runner. He cut her off and clipped the bumper of the car turning onto the street.
The boom of his heartbeat began to mellow out somewhat. This was his street. A police cruiser was parallel parked. One of the Boys in Blue were ringing the doorbell and sizing up the impenetrable two-story tall door. The other one was peering into the glass wall to the left. Both of those fuckers had a bewildered look on their face, and Blake wagered that they still had donut glaze on their lips. Fucking rookies. Instead of pulling up to the sidewalk, the Aston Martin jumped the curb and onto the grass, stopping next to them.
The two cops had their hands on their guns as he got out.
“Blake Baldwin,” Tweedle Dum said. “We need you to let us in the house.”
Although, Blake assumed he was the leader, Tweedle Dee—or whatever—cut in, adding, “Once you do, please sit at the curb.”
He gave the true leader, a sideways look. Tweedle Dee was intuitive enough to know Blake refused to sit on the sidelines. Blake nodded in agreement and placed his hand on the doorknob.
“It’s locked—” Tweedle Dum said just as the door clicked.
With no time to explain that the door had a biometric lock, Blake stepped into the house, ears perked. “Where is Mila?”
The two cops glanced at each other as he appeared to speak to no one.
The smart house spoke, without a sense of urgency: “Mila Ali is in the master bathroom with Todd Welsh.”
Tweedle Dee headed for the stairs, but Blake cut him off.
“Mr. Baldwin, please. We have the situation covered.”
Two at a time, Blake’s polished shoes ascended the staircase with the cops hot on his trail. At the sound of glass crashing, he moved like a lightning bolt.
“Miiii—Laaaaaaaaa!” He yelled with all that he had in him.
He gripped the bedroom door, almost sliding on the glossy wood floors, and ran inside.
“Mr. Baldwin, stop!”
The couch sat in the sitting area of the bedroom. Blake ran, placing one foot on the seat and his other on the headrest over it. He used it as a trampoline, propelling himself forward, landing beside the bed. He charged into the bathroom. For a split second, the sight of blood stopped him despite the onslaught of adrenaline rushing through his brain.
Mila’s gaze bugged out at him as Todd pulled her down to the floor with him. The motherfucker’s back was to Blake.
“Like I said.” Todd spoke in a l
abored voice. “I’m gonna fuck you . . .” Just as Todd meant to straddle Mila, Blake rammed into his spine.
His knees landed on Todd’s lower back. He punched at the man’s shoulders, neck, and back of his head. He only paused for a second to yank at his own tie before digging in. His woman was exposed, and images of Todd accosting her was all Blake needed. Murder flashed before his eyes.
“Blake, baby, stop!” Mila shouted, standing up.
“Baldwin, freeze!” One of the cops shouted.
“We will use force,” the other warned.
“Baby, I’m okay.” Mila inched her way forward, but his fists were flying hard.
She screeched, “I’m okay!” She held her hands up toward the cop who was ready to stop this fight once in for all. “Please let me! Don’t hurt Blake.”
“Ma’am, we need you to move!” Tweedle Dum stated.
Tweedle Dee took off his baton and slammed it into Blake’s chest, pulling him off Todd. Blake punched the officer in the jaw. It wasn’t until Mila crouched down, getting in Blake’s face did he notice her again. Tunnel vision had him focused on bashing in Todd’s spine. He stood up, hands in the air.
“Blake Baldwin, you are under arrest,” Tweddle Dum snarled, reading Blake’s Miranda Rights to him, just as Tweddle Dee began speaking in rote memory to Todd, who was all but unconscious.
“I am in my house,” Blake growled. “I have rights.”
“Correction, you were given an order.”
“No, he didn’t mean it.” Mila tried.
Disregarding her pleas, Tweedle Dum shouted over her. “We gave you an order, Baldwin, and you acted as a vigilante. You also just assaulted an officer! We are taking you in.”
Instead of arguing, he pulled off his suit jacket and gave it to Mila. She was too busy pleading a case for him. Tweedle Dum slapped the cuffs on him tight.
“Put this on.” He all but ordered. Fragments of a worse future still roved through his mind.
Mila took it. “No, he saved me, you can’t take him—”
“Mila,” Blake barked. “Put it on, please. I’ll be home in—”
Before the officer could take Blake, Mila shrugged the jacket on and planted herself in front of Blake. “Blake didn’t do anything.”
“Ma’am, step to the side,” Tweddle Dee pleaded in a firm voice, half holding up Todd, while on his way out of the room.
“Well, if you’re not going to listen, at least give me a minute!” She argued with Tweddle Dum. He seemed to be ready to burst a blood vessel but backed up.
“Mila, whatever you have to say can wait.” Blake pressed his forehead against hers. The longing in her eyes told him that she wasn’t satisfied with his response. But all he’d done to get to her—the two cars next to the freeway on-ramp, the runner, and the car at the stop sign—he didn’t need her worrying about it. “You’re gonna be okay, baby.”
“I know.” She rubbed her hand along the stubble at his cheek. “Will you marry me?”
In his shock, Blake scoffed. “You’re just flustered right now, Mila. Call Yasmin. I’ll be home—”
“No, I want you to marry me, Blake. It isn’t marriage that I’m afraid of—”
Tweedle Dum cut in, spine erect. He was ready to toss his weight around. “Alright, that’s enough—”
“Then what is it?” Blake asked. He had to know.
“The engagement.”
His eyebrows crinkled. After all the ruminating over how to propose, Blake had never thought about the issues she’d had in the past.
“Baby, I would marry you tomorrow.” She followed them downstairs.
“Ma’am, please.” Tweedle Dum gestured for space.
“You can do your job,” she argued, still at his heels. “Blake, baby, I would marry you tomorrow.”
As they got to the bottom step, two more cruisers were on the scene, as was a news van.
“Blake!” She shouted out.
He pulled away from Tweedle Dum somewhat, a grin finally plastered across his face. “I love you, Mila. And I would marry you today!”
“Well, damn, my presence was in dire need,” a snarky voice commented. They both turned around to see that, besides the front doors being wide open, exposing them to the flashing cameras and recorders of news reporters, Lamb was at the door. At his side, was Blake’s PR representative, Parker. Even with her serious stance and business skirt, she seemed shrunken next to Lamb. She was also sandwiched between Lamb and the owner of that snarky voice.
It belonged to Ephraim Levine, Blake’s thirty-four-year-old attorney and longtime friend. Ephraim was not just any attorney. The Levine family bred high powered litigators. Ephraim, with his ultra-polished demeanor, joshed. “Blake, I do believe the last time I saw you was at a tropical wedding for a mutual client, but we’re gonna see just what has caused this wedding fever bullshit.”
“Excuse you, Ephraim.” Mila cut in, although her voice lacked any maliciousness.
“You look gorgeous as ever, though that blazer isn’t quite tailored for you. You should probably discard it at this instant.” Ephraim attempted to flirt. He turned his attention to Blake. “Wait, wait a minute—”
“Sir, step back.” Tweedle Dum argued. His partner had already escorted Todd out of the house. Ephraim looked around. The rest of Los Angeles Finest were keeping the press at bay.
“Me? Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ephraim Levine. And before I was rudely interrupted, I was in the process of acknowledging that Mr. Baldwin is wearing handcuffs. This is the part where I make inquiries. Like, explain exactly why my client is wearing handcuffs?”
Tweedle Dum glanced out the door, attempting to connect eyes with one of his peers.
“The name didn’t compel you?” Ephraim inquired with a cocky grin. “Let’s just take this assessment even further, besides being one-third of Ephraim and Sons—the top law firm in the country—I have also assisted the affluent when it came to the Los Angeles Police Department, making rich men richer.”
He dropped the name of a client, and Tweedle Dum’s mouth tensed as he removed the cuffs from Blake’s hands.
“As you are aware, that lawsuit damn near dug into a few pensions. Might have even been yours. Now, this is how the story will play out. You’re going to sit him in the front seat of any one of those cruisers. If you touch his fucking head to get him in the car, I will consider that as an act of war. If he sits in the backseat, well, I’ll go after you personally. I’ll have your job and all the pennies you can rub together with it. When we get to the precinct, feel free to follow the usual protocol. You can place the charges on him as you intended to do, but nothing will stick. I’ll ultimately win.”
Tweedle Dum cursed under his breath while removing the handcuffs. Blake chose not to measure balls. Clearly, every moment of his attorney’s life was meant for sizing cocks, so he left that to Ephraim. He hugged Mila and pressed his lips to her forehead before letting her go.
“I’ll get dressed.” She backed away and started up the stairs.
“Don’t. I like those legs.” Ephraim grinned.
Blake pointed a stiff finger at him, like a wolf showing his dominance. Blake received the appropriate response when Ephraim backed away.
“C’mon, bro, I rarely ever get a rise out of you. It was just for fucks. She’s one of the few that I respect.”
“That’s actually saying a lot.” Parker spoke up. The mousy woman adjusted her purple-rimmed glasses. “While you guys head to the police station, I’ll stay here and give a statement.”
“Can you go talk to Mila?” Blake asked. “I don’t want her upstairs alone.”
Parker glanced at Lamb, ready to pass along the request as she had a one-track mind, which was always on work. She was ready for the limelight, yet judgment told her that sympathy, especially in this case, should come from a female. Before she could nod, a black woman entered, with pencil-thin dreadlocks and a suit covering her chunky frame.
“That won’t be necessary,” she s
aid, while holding out a badge. “I’m Detective Brown. Although I’m highly versed regarding Mr. Levine’s threats, Mr. Baldwin, I need your home assessed by my Crime Scene Unit. And nobody is to speak with Ms. Ali before I do.”
Ephraim squared his shoulders, ready to fight, but Blake cut in. “She’s upstairs.”
As Blake walked with Ephraim and Tweedle Dum outside, a few other cops followed suit; however, neither of them would touch him.
He leaned closer to his friend and whispered, “I did a few things to get here, Eph.”
“Inconsequential. I’ll handle it.”
“I hit—”
“Blake, remember that time when you tried to take me bungee jumping? I argued my way out of it. Now, I might be overextending myself, but I need you to let me lead, bro.”
Mila
Detective Brown had stopped Mila before she had even made it past the threshold of the bedroom a few minutes ago. She’d been kind enough while introducing herself and then explaining the presence of a Latina forensic photographer, who now stood with her in the bedroom. While Brown glanced inside the bathroom, the thin woman with a long nose had Mila remove Blake’s blazer. She had just taken a few full-frame photos. She twirled her finger for Mila to turn around.
It felt as if she were being violated all over again as the photographer took a few more photos. The woman gave a quick apology. When she finished, Detective Brown didn’t give Mila a moment to contemplate what had just happened.
“Please get dressed,” she said. “We can chat, and then a team will enter.”
“Can we talk while I dress?” Mila asked. “I can’t stand being . . . here much longer.”
Brown offered a sympathetic smile. “I understand that you’re ready to get out of this room. You can grab a few items, and we can step into another area if you’d like. I just prefer to conduct my preliminary interview at the crime scene—the story is still fresh on your mind.”
They headed to the walk-in closet.
“Did a noise, anything whatsoever, warn you that Welsh was inside your home?” Brown asked, as Mila chose the first item her hand touched, which was an olive-green sweater dress.