𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 | 𝐃.𝐄.

8

Four days later.

Saint groaned in his sleep, hearing his phone ringing, and he hit the power button, silencing it, attempting to doze back off.

He wrapped his arm around Imani's neck, slowly drifting back to sleep, before groaning in frustration as his phone rung again.

"Baby just answer it." She tiredly mumbled, her eyes remaining closed.

He turned his body to grab it from the dresser, and Imani turned the other way, laying on her side to face the wall, tuning out his conversation so that she could go back to sleep.

"What man?" He answered, his voice raspy, his eyes still closed.

"Good morning sir. My apologies for calling so early, but Ghost accepted your shipment, but he hasn't paid, and I sent a few men to go see what happened, and he's no longer there." Alayna told him, and his eyes opened.

"What? What the fuck are you talking about?" He frowned, sitting up.

"He's not at his warehouse anymore. We checked his relative's houses, and he's just nowhere to be found. Whatever device he was using to contact us, is now offline, so we can't track him." She explained, typing at her computer.

"Alayna that was almost five hundred million dollars worth of product, and y'all can't fucking find him? Do you know how much fucking money that is?!" He sat up in his bed, becoming frustrated.

Imani internally groaned, raising from the bed and walking out of the room, rubbing her eye.

"Sir I did what I could, I'm not sure what else to do, which is why I called. I'm sorry." She apologized, and he punched the bridge of his nose.

"His mama. Find her, kill her. Do it the fuck now." He instructed, standing up.

"Yes sir." She responded, and Saint ended the call, throwing his phone against the wall, watching it shatter.

"Really Saint?" Imani mumbled, her arms folded across her chest.

"I'm not in the fucking mood Imani." He rasped, walking to his bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Imani went back towards the kitchen, grabbing the broom and dust pan, before going back in his room to sweep the glass up.

She emptied the swept up glass into the kitchen trash, placing the broom and dust pan back in their places.

When she walked back in the room, Saint was standing at his dresser, a different phone in his hand.

Imani walked in the bathroom, sitting down to Pre, and then wiping herself off, pulling her panties up and flushing the toilet.

After washing her hands, she grabbed her toothbrush, brushing her teeth, then washing her bare face.

She carried her things to her suitcase that was in his closet, quietly packing her things up.

"Imani what are you doing?" He stood at the entrance of his large closet, taking her clothes from her hand.

"Saint stop it." She mumbled, reaching for her things, and he held it in the air where she couldn't reach, making her roll her eyes.

"What are you doing? You going home? For what?" He asked, squatting to be at her level.

"Because. I don't like your attitude." She shrugged, deciding to let him keep the shirts in his hand, zipping up her suitcase.

"Imani that was five hundred million dollars." He said, and she shook her head.

"I understand. But that doesn't give you the right to talk to me any kind of way, and being angry won't bring your money back. I don't ever cuss at you. And you've never done it to me, so why start now?" She asked, looking up at him.