“He don’t got your name! He got his own name! Move, Messiah!” Morgan shouted as she pushed past him. She stormed back into the house, struggling with two babies as she retrieved her keys and then exited out the front door. She pulled open the back door to her car. Messiah pushed it closed.

“How old are they, Mo?” Messiah asked.

He was pulling at her, desperate for information. His stomach was empty, sick, twisting in torment at the possibility that these could be his whiny, snotty-nosed little motherfuckers. The ones they had dreamed of all those years ago. He tried to search their faces for similarities, but he found none. All he saw was Morgan Atkins.

“Get off me!” she shouted.

Messiah pointed a finger in her face, tilting her forehead back. “Answer the fucking question, Mo!”

Messari was in her arms, and the tone of Messiah’s voice flipped a switch inside his little body. At just two years old, his instincts kicked in.

Bop!

The tiniest fist connected with Messiah’s eye. The stun behind the punch brought Messiah to an abrupt halt.

“Ssari!” Morgan shouted.

Messiah pulled Messari from Morgan’s arms and held him by both shoulders, extending his arms up above his head as he stared the little boy in his eyes.

“Hey! Put me down!” Messari shouted. He swung and kicked as he dangled at Messiah’s mercy. It took everything in Messiah not to laugh.

“Badass.” He smirked. “Keep protecting ya’ mama, kid. That’s exactly what you do if a nigga run up talking crazy. Remind a nigga when he doing too much, and touch him where it hurt if he don’t stop.” He pulled Messari into his body and looked down at Yara, who was hiding behind Mo. He pinched Morgan’s chin between two fingers. “We gon’ talk, shorty. Stop crying and get your kids home safe.”

He kissed her lips like he had a right to. Nothing major. A peck on the mouth like he had been doing it for years. He placed Messari on his feet, then turned to walk back into the house. Morgan thought about yelling after him. The twins were his children. They were their children. But then she thought of who he was and what he had done. Messiah was toxic. If she had learned anything at all from him, it was to not trust words but actions. His actions had made him her enemy, and it would take a lot more than charm and aggression to get her to trust him with her babies. Morgan wouldn’t ever put them in jeopardy. She couldn’t gamble with their safety, and Messiah was full of uncertainty. Until she was sure he was safe, he couldn’t know. She tucked her kids into their car seats and drove away. Distance was needed, because being around Messiah brought on a familiar ache inside her. One she never wanted to feel again.

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