Only his

Ch18

Drew POV

The sun hadn't even fully cracked the sky when I rolled out of bed. Karen was still curled under the blankets, tucked into herself like a damn angel—like she didn't live in the lion's den. Her breathing was soft, peaceful even, like she wasn't sleeping in the arms of a man covered in blood just hours ago.

I didn't wake her.

Didn't kiss her goodbye.

Didn't say a word.

I just showered, dressed, and dipped. My mind wasn't on her—it was on him. That punk who thought he could steal from me. From Drew Sheard? Shit. You don't just take from me and breathe easy the next day.

As I pulled up to the trap, rage simmered low in my gut. The place was tucked behind the old meat factory, already reeking of death and secrets. Two of my men stood out front, and when they saw my face, they didn't say a word. Just opened the door and let me through.

He was already tied up. Knees bent, face bloodied from last night's beatdown, sobbing like a damn child. A bucket in the corner reeked of piss. My men didn't even let him out to use the bathroom. Good.

I stepped into the room, slow and deliberate. My boots echoed on the concrete like warning shots.

"Well, well, look at this shit," I growled, cold smile creeping onto my face. "The dumbass who thought I wouldn't notice."

He whimpered, "Drew, man please—I didn't know! It wasn't me! I swear to God—"

"You ain't got to swear to nobody, 'cause God ain't here," I cut him off. "Only I am. And I say you fucked up."

I turned and opened the black case.

My favorite.

It snapped open with a clean little click. Inside—steel, rust, and nightmares. Tools that made grown men scream like toddlers. I grabbed a blade with a thick, serrated edge. No point starting soft.

I turned back and jabbed it deep into his thigh. He howled.

Music to my ears.

"You know what this is?" I asked, stabbing his arm next. "It's interest. For every dollar you stole, I'm carving repayment."

Over and over.

The room filled with blood and shrieks. My men stood still, eyes wide but respectful. They knew better than to interrupt when I was like this.

When I was him.

Finally, after a long hour of screams, I dropped the blade.

"Finish this shit," I told them flatly. "Cut him up. Burn what you can. Dump the rest in the river."

I left before they started.

⸻

📍 Sheard Mansion — Later That Afternoon

Karen sat on the couch, curled under a blanket with a bowl of popcorn on her lap and The Color Purple playing low on the TV. Her eyes were heavy. She hadn't eaten much all day—just nibbled here and there, anxiety twisting her gut into knots.

She looked up just as the front door opened.

There he was.

Standing in the doorway, his shirt stained dark red, face emotionless, eyes wild.

Blood.

Fresh.

Karen stood up so fast the blanket dropped to the floor.

"D-Drew?" she whispered.

He closed the door behind him. Calm. Almost too calm.

"Don't be scared, baby," he said as he kicked off his boots, blood flaking off onto the tile. "I'm home now."

Her eyes brimmed with tears. "You... you killed someone, didn't you?"

He shrugged like it meant nothing. "That bastard had it coming. You know I don't let shit slide."

That's when she said it—voice trembling, heart in her throat.

"Take me home. To my home."

His body stiffened. His head turned slowly, his jaw ticking.

"What'd you say?" His voice dropped to a low, venomous growl.

Karen tried again, firmer this time. "I want to go home, Drew. I can't do this. I can't be here."

That's when everything snapped.

His hand wrapped around her throat so fast she didn't even register the movement—just the pressure. Her back hit the wall, her feet almost left the floor.

Her hands clawed at his arm, panic flashing in her eyes as she gasped for air.

"You listen to me, Karen," he seethed, inches from her face. "You're not going anywhere. Ever. I don't care how scared you are or how mad you get. You're mine. You chose me. So sit your pretty little ass down and cut that shit out."

Just as quickly as it started, it was over.

He let go, stormed off, and slammed the bathroom door.

Karen sank to the floor, coughing, hand on her neck.

Her chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, but her mind was already somewhere else—planning.

⸻

Karen POV

I waited until the water started running in the bathroom before I moved.

My hands shook as I stripped out of my house clothes and pulled on a hoodie, jeans, and some sneakers. No makeup. No jewelry. Just enough to walk out the front door and disappear if I needed to.

But I didn't run. Not yet.

Instead, I went down to the kitchen. I had to pretend everything was fine—for now.

I forced myself to cook. Stirred the rice. Fried the chicken. Tossed the salad. The whole time, flashes of Drew's blood-soaked face danced in my head. My stomach turned.

I nearly vomited.

But when he came downstairs, hair still damp, dressed in a black hoodie and sweatpants like nothing happened—he smiled at me.

Smiled.

He sat down and fixed his plate. I sat too, barely touching my food.

His men hovered nearby. A few looked at him strangely—like they knew. Like maybe he'd finally gone too far. One of them made eye contact with me, then looked away fast.

I spoke softly. "When do I get my phone back?"

He didn't answer right away.

Then, with that same eerie calm, he reached into his pocket and slid it across the table.

Karen blinked.

Took it.

Didn't say thank you.

Didn't smile.

Just tucked it away and finished her meal in silence.

After dinner, she excused herself and went to her bedroom. Locked the door behind her. Picked up the old landline next to the bed and called her mother.

Mama Mattie picked up on the first ring.

"Karen?" Her voice was sharp. "Baby, you okay?"

Karen's voice cracked. "I just needed to hear your voice."

They talked for a while—about the weather, about church, about the nieces.

Karen didn't say much about what was really going on. She couldn't. Not yet.

But her mother knew something was wrong.

"I love you, baby," Mattie said. "We're praying for you."

"I love you too, Mama."

She hung up.

Ten minutes later, Drew slid into bed behind her, arms wrapping around her waist like a possessive shadow.

"I love you, baby," he murmured against her neck.

Karen didn't answer.

She just closed her eyes, lay still, and let herself drift into sleep—trapped in the arms of a killer.