Chapter 38

Devon received the call close to four in the evening and hopped on a flight the next morning. His man was watching, complaining loudly about the weather, but he was there. A few miles outside the airport, traffic slowed to a snail’s pace. He couldn’t believe this was real life. He’d found her, knew exactly where she was, and couldn’t get to her because of some weird traffic shit.

“Could you go a different way?”

The driver glanced over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. “There ain’t no escape from traffic. This is Chicago.”

A commuter train screamed past, and anger filled him. He should have taken public transportation, but he hadn’t stepped foot on the subway in years, and he wasn’t about to start now. So what if he was running out of money? Selling Nichole off would net him a few million. There were some very rich men who wanted her. He’d shopped her around to a few of the bigger players who liked high-class concubines. They were very interested in getting their hands on someone like Nichole.

He understood why they wanted someone like her. Breaking a woman like Nichole would be a challenge. His assistant Alissa was the type of woman who understood giving a few blowjobs to the boss was just par for the course. Nichole would fight it for months, maybe years. Eventually, with a lot of work, she would learn how to treat a man. It would take time, though, and he wasn’t a patient man. He wanted his bitches to get on their knees without a fuss.

Finally, after more than an hour stuck in traffic, they made it to the street where Nichole lived. He tossed the driver some money and took off, not giving a tip. The guy had been too sassy, giving him lip about traffic. If someone had talked back to his dad like that, the man would have ended him.

Nichole was to blame for everything, and he was going to make her pay. He saw the guy they were paying to watch her place. Devon headed straight to him, ready to get the end game started, and put that bitch down like the dog she was.

“Where is she?” Devon asked.

“Fifth floor. She went in before noon. It’s almost two now. She moved some boxes out, but I haven’t seen anything in hours. The curtains are closed.”

“What apartment?”

“Five twenty-one.”

“You sure?”

The guy nodded. Devon could tell he was a tweaker. Whatever money they paid him would be lost in the man’s nose or up his veins. In a few weeks, the dude would be back on the streets trying to survive.

Devon moved to the building and tried the door. Locked. They had a button, but no doormen he could bribe. That sucked. He would have to wait for someone to come out to jump the door.

Minutes passed, and he was getting antsy. He wished people weren’t so suspicious because, before all this stupid storytelling on social media, he could have just pushed buttons until someone opened the door for him. Now, no one fell for that.

He was about to give up when some young guy, maybe twenty-two, stepped out and didn’t watch to make sure the door shut. Devon was in.

His hand shook as he pressed the button for floor five. He wasn’t scared, more excited to finally screw Nichole Benton over like she’d screwed his family. Whatever came from this, she deserved it.

His stomach clenched as he stepped out on the fifth floor, barely noticing the woman entering the elevator who he brushed past.

“Excuse me!” the woman nearly yelled as the elevator doors shut.

A part of him wanted to tell her to fuck off, but he was on a mission. Nichole was his focus. He paused with his hand raised outside her door. What would he do if she was in there? His plans weren’t fully formed. He just wanted to get revenge, and he hadn’t actually thought about how to get her out of the apartment to New York.

The door beside him opened, and an older woman, maybe fifty years old, stepped out. He tried for a genial smile women that age seemed to like.

“Oh, she’s already gone.”

The woman’s words twisted through his mind. It wasn’t what he’d expected her to say. “What?”

“She left. Took off about an hour ago. Gave me her kitchen stuff and some other things. Nice woman. I’ll miss living next door to her. She was quiet. Probably going to get some headbanger in here next.”

He missed her? How could he have missed her? She had been here, and now she was gone.

His brain didn’t seem to want to process what this woman was saying. He stuttered, shuffling through responses, and finally settled on one. “She moved out? Do you have her address?”

Now, the woman looked suspicious, as if she didn’t trust him. Fuck, he’d screwed this up. Of course, anyone who knew Nichole would know where she was moving. A crazy stalker or stranger wouldn’t get that information, and this woman looked at him like he was the enemy and not Nichole’s friend. If she only knew.

“No. You’ll have to get that from her.”

He wanted to roll his eyes. Of course, she had the perfect answer. No way would she give out Nichole’s information. But fuck that. He needed this woman to tell him exactly where she’d moved. Maybe he could hurt her. The elevator opened again and two young people spilled out, saying hello to the woman he was talking to and giving him a huge side eye.

With two new people seeing him, there was no way he would get anything from this woman. This was Chicago, not New York so he had no police officers in his corner, not that many of them wanted to help him after all the money had dried up. Fuck, Nichole had to pay for all the shit she’d caused.

Devon flashed a smile, hoping she forgot him as soon as he left. “Thank you. I’ll call her.”

The woman actually had the audacity to smirk. It wasn’t worth going to jail in Chicago for assault. He turned and stalked back to the elevator. At least he hadn’t paid the stupid fucker who’d been watching for Nichole. The guy had fucked up and not seen her leave. How the hell was this happening?

Something needed to be done, but again, he couldn’t act because Nichole Benton had ruined everything. He pushed out the front door of the building, almost running into some old man with his dog.

“Watch it.”

The guy launched something at him, but he sidestepped, almost dodging into the street and running into a biker. He jumped back just in time and landed on whatever the dog guy had tossed at him.

He felt it give underneath his foot. A quick glance down revealed what he’d stepped on. The scent hit first, making his stomach roil.

“Fucking dog shit!”

Anger filled him, but the old man and dog were gone. Who the fuck tossed dog crap at someone else?

He would have to get new shoes. These shoes stank so bad he couldn’t stand himself.

After buying a pair of shoes, he decided to take public transportation. Money was getting tighter with all his flying across the country. He needed something good to happen, or he would have to rob a bank or something else to give him money.

Once on the commuter train, he remembered why he hated public transportation. There were too many people, way too much humanity. Being forced into poverty had him so angry he wanted to punch someone.

The movement of the train made his stomach pitch. The scent memory from stepping on the dog shit hit just as someone bumped into him. Anger rose, and he spun, ready to tell the person to fuck off.

It was a cop. Luckily, his tongue froze in his mouth. He swallowed his anger, pushing it way down. This was just one more thing Nichole had taken from him. His dignity was gone. He couldn’t move through life like his father had. Money greased wheels, but all he had was dog shit and bile-inducing anger. If something didn’t happen soon, he would never recover.