Her heart clenched when she saw Messiah walk over to the pool where Yara played. She sucked in air, forgetting to release it as he squatted. Eye to eye, he lingered in front of Yara, the daughter he didn’t even know he had, and Morgan froze. Yara retreated, crying as she ran toward Eazy. She didn’t know him, and her deaf daughter was an empath. She sensed the wickedness in this gangster. Yara had no idea that the devil inside Messiah would burn an entire city to the ground for her. If he only knew that she was of his loins. Blood of his blood. The combination of what their passion had made. Morgan wasn’t sure if it was love anymore. She wasn’t sure of anything. What she felt for Ahmeek was different from what she felt for Messiah, and she was sure that she loved Meek. Messiah’s connection felt like ownership. Like he had purchased her outright and paid in full, all big bills, and he was refusing to sign away the title.

Morgan felt exposed when Messiah lifted his attention to the window.

“Let me get that, shorty.”

It would have been crass had he spoken the words. It was fucking charming as hell, however, because he had signed them. Signed them better than ever. Morgan felt her face heat as her fair skin turned scarlet. The arrogant smirk that pulled at the corners of his lips pissed Morgan off so badly she closed the blinds, blocking his view of her.

She wanted to sit in her room, barricade herself inside, but she refused to give Messiah that power. She had cried many tears between these four walls over him. She had prayed to God to bring him back all those years ago. Her prayers had never come true, and Morgan had fallen down a rabbit hole of dysfunction. Morgan was just beginning to feel like herself after losing him, and as if he had an alarm that warned him that she was about to move on, he had popped back into her life. It was so overwhelming that Morgan hadn’t even taken the time to process his resurrection. She took a deep breath and headed toward the backyard. This was her family. She had every right to be here. Messiah could only make her feel uncomfortable if she let him. She walked downstairs and headed toward the back, but as she entered the kitchen, Messiah came waltzing through the sliding doors. Her breath hitched, and she stopped walking. Messiah stood before her. Fresh fade, white T-shirt, and hoop shorts with fresh J’s.

“You good, shorty?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”