D E A N
𓆩♡𓆪
Coming home I check the bags to make sure I got everything.
Pregnancy test?
Check.
Soup?
Check.
Water?
Check.
New clothes?
Check.
About to unlock the door I see it's already unlocked, so I open it, "Parisa! Angel, I'm home."
Thinking she's still asleep I walk to the room. As I got closer to the room I hear screaming coming from her so I try to open the door, "Parisa open the door."
The door is lock so I throw my shoulder into it a few times.
I soon switch open to my foot and it swings open after a few kicks.
Looking over at the bed I see that son of a bitch Lance on top of her. Running over to the bed I pick him up off of her and slam him onto the ground. Parisa runs out of the room, and I begin punching the shit out of his face, "you like raping women? HUH," I yell. "I didn't rape her," he cries.
"You attempted to you son of a bitch," I stop my punches and pin him down on the floor, "who told you my address," I ask while screaming.
"Her dad," he quickly responds.
"Her dad told me to do it," he continues.
I usually don't kill people in my home because this is where my daughter sleeps, but I do make exceptions.
I get up taking my gun out of my dresser, he's already bleeding out. "Parisa," I call.
She comes into the room after I call her a few more times and I hand her my gun, "kill the motherfucker." She grabs the gun with shaking hands and I pin Lance down onto the floor with my foot, "Baby don't. You know I love you! Come on," he cries.
"Do it," I demand her.
She looks at me and then at him with tears in her eyes and blood coming from her lips and nose.
She shoots him once in his face before screaming from shock. She drops the gun from how bad her hands are shaking and I pull her into my chest, "it's fine that son of a bitch deserves it. You did good,"
𓆩♡𓆪
I took Parisa to my penthouse connected to my main building. I don't think it's safe for her or my daughter to be there, I laid her down while her brain processed what it needs to.
Laying down next to her I cuddle her from behind and gives her kisses now and again.
After a while she turns around and laughs through her cry, "is that the kind of work I'm going to be doing."
Wiping the tears from her face I respond, "not if you don't want to. Mainly the men do all the dirty work."
I added the last part because if I know my Angel I know she hates sexist remarks.
"What do you mean by that," she asks with sass.
"You know what I mean," I respond giving her a light kiss. "Okay then I want to do the dirty work," she sits up in bed and hits me on the side of my head, "and stop being a sexist jerk. It's a turn-off."
