“Cartier already fucking knows!” I yell, squeezing my phone in my hand so hard I actually think I hear it click. Speaking of the devil, she falls down onto the sofa opposite me, biting into an apple. I flip her off. “Well, you can be pissed at Perse for that.” I don’t need another reason to hate her, but I won’t tell King that. Not that I hate Perse. This is a new thing. Like a two-day new thing. “She’s pregnant thou—” I hang up on him, tossing my phone onto the spot beside me. Motherfucker is using her pregnancy as an excuse as to why Perse is failing miserably at being Delila.
