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Brad Thompson moves into the building and notices Makeda Tefera's full, round ass. He drugs Solomon into a trance, spikes muffins for Makeda and her seven-year-old son, and watches the boy stare at his mother's bouncing hips before whispering that she needs to fuck them both.
The four of them sit around the coffee table, crumbs on plates. Solomon's hand pauses mid-reach for his coffee; his eyes go glassy and fixed on the wall. Makeda shifts, pressing her thighs together, h
Brad stands alone in the living room, the bedroom sounds fading into a wet, rhythmic hush. The second man's voice cuts through the silence, low and clear: 'Brad. Bring the boy's car.' The toy car sits