Page 2 of Mia

He looked offended. “Why the hell not?”

“Look at us. We can barely get along for five minutes. You think I wanna spend nine months fighting with you and being stressed out?”

“You think I wanna keep fighting with you period, Mia? Fuck is you talking about? You stress me the fuck out too. The shit is exhausting. If anything, this baby is a sign that we need to get our shit together. I don’t wanna raise my kids in a toxic environment or a broken home.”

I crossed my arms. “You don’t wanna be stuck with me and I don’t wanna be stuck with you. A kid makes us stuck.”

“Well, that’s too damn bad cause you stuck with me for life, love.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

He chuckled as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Mia, you know I love you. You know I’ve been in love with you. I’m not the one fighting that shit anymore. You fight me on every fucking thing. What are you so afraid of?”

I frowned. “I’m not afraid of anything. I don’t need you, Titan. I barely even want you⁠—”

He laughed in my face. “You a muthafuckin’ lie. Nah, you don’t need me, but you damn sure want me as much as I want you. And I want this baby.”

“I’m not supposed to have a baby right now. I’m leaving for a mission⁠—”

“Oh, you can cancel that mission. You ain’t going nowhere with my baby in you.”

“Excuse you?”

“You heard what I said.”

“And since when do I listen to or answer to you? I’m not one of these bitches.”

He walked over and gently wrapped his fingers around my throat. “No. You ain’t my bitch. You’re my woman. Stop fucking playing with me. You leave here with my baby in your stomach, and I’m hunting you down, on God. You know I don’t fuck around when it comes to mine. You. Are. Mine. Nakupenda.”

He told me he loved me in Swahili. After being around long enough to hear me and my siblings speak the language to each other, I was shocked as hell to find out he’d learned my grandmother’s native tongue. Well, not too shocked. The nigga had an eidetic memory. He probably heard or read the shit and never forgot it. We’d been in the middle of one of our sessions and he was deep in my guts. The sound of him speaking my grandmother’s native tongue in that deep, sexy tone while he slowly stroked me sent me over the edge.

That was the thing about that man. He irritated me to no end, yet I loved him, but hated him. My feelings for him were a shit show most of the time. Titan didn’t know how serious I was about getting the fuck away from him right now. Tomorrow, I was on the first flight to Paris.

I was tired.

I was tired of looking like a fucking joke to my family. Tired of always fighting with him. Tired of feeling like I was in an endless cycle with him, us, and this fucked up ass shell of a relationship we had. I needed a break, but most of all, I needed peace. I knew I had to be careful, but I was taking this mission one way or the other.

Isat at my vanity, brushing my hair, preparing to play the role I’d been playing for three months now. I’d successfully integrated one of the biggest underground human trafficking networks overseas and this shit was no joke. They made the criminals back home look like amateurs.

Here, I wasn’t Mia Dillinger.

I was Madam Celeste Coltrain, business associate to JacQues DuPont. To him, I was running a brothel and needed girls to work for me. The brothel I came in and took over was notorious for having some of the best girls in the city. The previous owner, Miranda Devereaux, was a nasty bitch. She was doing some foul shit, and I took great pleasure in putting a bullet between her eyes.

She and JacQues already had a prior business relationship, which is how I was able to get to him. He didn’t question me taking over for that bitch because he wanted to fuck me. The lust in his eyes the first time I met him was disgusting, but I forced myself to play along for the sake of business. He delivered the girls; I paid him and gave them their freedom. So far, I’d managed to get thirty women back to the states.

Unbeknownst to him, I’d been studying him for months prior to even stepping foot in Paris. On the outside, Mr. DuPont looked like a regular old businessman. He was handsome, successful, and decorated with awards and achievements. Behind closed doors, he was a sick, twisted son of a bitch who sold men and women in the underground market.

His network first came up on our radar when a girl I grew up with went missing. Her mother and mine were good friends, and she called her for help. Because of the tracker in a necklace she wore, she was able to be found safe and sound.

The men who were set to deliver her were caught, and when questioned, they gave up their source. Of course, my grandfather had them taken care of. Papa James made sure they felt every bit of pain as they were torn limb from limb when he fed them to his pet sharks, Killer and Diablo.

Jaeda and Quaid worked tirelessly to find out everything they could about JacQues DuPont. He was smart. Nobody would think to look for girls missing from America in Paris, especially not black women. We go missing every day and never get the national coverage like our counterparts. I was proud to be a part of not one, but two families that worked hard to combat that injustice. Just like we got them back home, my team here would get them too. Before I left here, I was putting this sick bastard in the dirt.

A knock on my door broke me from my thoughts.

“Come in.”