He snickered. “Yeah, you want me to kill a mu’fucka today, shorty,” he said with a nod. Then his eyes went to her ring finger. The brilliance of the diamond sparkled. It was like it had magically appeared there; he hadn’t noticed it until now. He had known she was engaged. This wasn’t new information, but he’d never thought she would actually go through with it. He always thought she was playing games, seeking attention, because, well, that’s what Mo did, but hearing her speak the words so frankly … like it was inevitable for her to be another man’s wife … it hit him differently. It hurt with significance. It hurt worse than the molestation he had survived as a young boy. It ached more than the day he’d found his mother murdered. It tortured him more than the look of betrayal he had seen in Ethic’s eyes when he had snaked him all those years ago. It affected him more than killing his own sister. Morgan hurt him most with just words.

Match two. He felt that fire trying to start, and he smothered it as the words he was trying to form got stuck in his throat. He gritted his teeth, jaw locked, fist closed unintentionally as if he were preparing to knock a nigga out.

“You left me,” she said, defeated.

“I ain’t worried. You can’t marry a nigga that’s no longer breathing,” he said.

“Messiah!” His name on her lips like she were chastising a child she had birthed, but hadn’t she? He was a by-product of her love. That counted. She was his family, his Shorty Doo Wop, and she was engaged. He’d thought he had more time. “You’re going to murder every man I ever meet?”

She didn’t even know why she was defending Bash. His death would mean her freedom. She wanted to tell Messiah to go ahead, to pull triggers for her because Bash was hurting her, but she knew it wouldn’t truly mean freedom. It would just be a transfer of power. From Bash to Messiah she would go. Messiah would kill him for her without a second thought, but then he would expect to take Bash’s place, and Morgan wasn’t ready for that. Letting Messiah in again, indulging in their obsession for each other, would kill her. She had fought hard to breathe without him, and he would suffocate her all over again.

“Pretty much,” he said. He was so nonchalant that Morgan knew he meant it.

Messiah snatched up his jeans and sat on the edge of the bed as he dressed.

“How long did you expect me to wait?” she asked. “You never even called.”

“I had shit to get in order, Mo. Shit to handle,” he said.