I sped through the relatively quiet streets of New York City, racing toward our external warehouse, where a shipment of drugs was supposed to land tomorrow night. When I spotted a police cruiser lurking at a street corner, I slowed and gripped the steering wheel, unable to stop thinking about what Laila had said tonight.
She was right.
According to our agreement, we used Sage as a toy. Nothing more. We could come and go as we pleased and could request her service at any time. What Laila had done didn’t break the agreement in the slightest.
Sage was our plaything—more specifically, Laila’s plaything—the girl I had bought in case something went wrong with the FBI and Laila was left alone without a baby and with Bethany the b***h. We didn’t have to be Sage’s friend, and she had to deal wit
