The Baker's Bully 2 by Mesh Mesha

Author:Mesh, Mesha
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-07-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Whatever You Want

Three

I was at the warehouse, counting the profits from the last shipment when my phone vibrated. Squinting at the screen, I saw Egypt's name, her picture lighting up my world. I swiped right and pressed the phone to my ear, my other hand still gripping a stack of dollars.

"Savoy," her voice, faint but steady, fluttered through.

"Yeah, baby?" I said, my gaze sweeping over the table at the bills stacked sky high.

Even though I despised the monotonous task of counting and organizing my paper, I couldn't deny that I enjoyed making money. The rustle of the bills, the smell of fresh print, and the power it offered— something was intoxicating about it. The thrill was damn near tangible.

It wasn't the green bills stamped with deceased presidents' faces that gave me a rush, but what those bills represented—power, control, independence. There wasn’t anything more attractive than having the capability to shift your destiny with your own bare hands.

The legal tender I earned from my business ventures—the legitimate ones—brought with it the satisfaction of hard work and smart decisions. Seeing my investments pay off and watching my enterprises flourish gave me a sense of accomplishment, a taste of pride that was as sweet as the most decadent dessert.

Yet, on the other hand, the illicit money was different. I won't lie and pretend I didn't relish that, too. It was exhilarating—like a high-speed chase with fate itself. Each wad represented risks taken, and dangers braved. In those streets was where the power lay.

"Are you busy?" Egypt asked, her voice pulling me out of my reverie.

"Never too busy for you," I said, the mere sound of her voice enough to make my heart thud against my ribcage faster than any adrenaline rush my ill-gotten gains could provide. "What's up?"

"I was thinking…" she began timidly. I could almost see her biting her lower lip, her soft brown eyes gazing off into the distance.

"Yeah?" I grunted and slipped into a quieter corner of the warehouse, away from the clattering machines.

"Could you... pick up dinner on your way home?" she asked.

It was an odd request, considering she loved to cook, but I wasn't about to question it.

"Sure thing, baby," I answered without hesitation. "What you feel like eating?"

There was a pause, her breaths soft and even on the other end. And then came the list—bizarre, disjointed, a mishmash of flavors that probably had no business cohabitating on the same plate.

"I want hot buffalo wings and spicy Mexican enchiladas," she began, her voice hesitant, as if expecting me to cut her off. Instead, I gripped the phone tighter and listened as she recited her culinary wishes.

After a moment, she added, "And... umm... Singaporean chili crab." I couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it.

"Anything else?" I asked when she lapsed into silence again.

"Chicken tikka masala from that Indian place in Oak Lawn. Oh, and can you also get ribs from Pecan Lodge?"

Her list was growing more eccentric with each passing second, but I didn't mind. If anything, it boosted my curiosity.

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