Chapter 101: Lip Joins the Game — and a Massive Arms Shopping Spree
"Out! Get out! Get the hell out of my house!"
Fiona stood by the doorway, pointing outside, completely losing control as she screamed.
"Fiona, listen—let me explain. It's not like that." Monica still tried to argue.
But Frank wasn't here, and no one was backing her up.
Facing Fiona's fury, Monica had no chance of talking her down.
"This house is rented under my name," Fiona choked out, her voice shaking. "And right now I don't want to see you inside it.
Get out! Get out!"
Tears streaming down her face, Fiona started pounding on Monica's shoulders, shoving her toward the door.
How could she not want the warmth of a mother?
She wanted it more than anyone.
But she was born into a family like this—
and the things she needed most were always the things she could never have.
So no matter how badly Monica wanted to stay, Fiona forced her out.
Outside the door, Monica kept slamming her palm against it.
"Fiona! If you throw me out, where am I supposed to go?!"
That sentence—
it was the final straw.
The moment Fiona heard it, she dropped straight into a squat on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around her knees.
And she broke.
She sobbed so hard she could barely breathe.
"Why… why does this always happen to me…?"
William saw it.
He gently set Liam down in the stroller nearby, then walked over and crouched beside Fiona.
He pulled her into his arms.
He didn't say a single word.
He just let her cry against his chest, soaking his shirt, as if none of it mattered.
Fifteen minutes later, Fiona's shaking finally slowed.
She leaned against William's shoulder.
And she realized, with a sudden rush of relief—
at least in this moment, she still had someone she could lean on.
"Thank you… William."
She lifted her head.
Their eyes met.
And in that quiet second, Fiona knew with terrifying certainty:
She was already hopelessly in love with this man.
Dry tinder.
Open flame.
War was inevitable.
Not long after, the kitchen erupted with bang-bang-bang noises—
plates and cutlery knocked to the floor.
Now and then, there were heavier thuds too—
sharp impacts against counters, cabinets, walls.
---
Meanwhile, Ian and Lip were walking north from the red-light district toward North Wallace.
"Lip… you've really decided?" Ian glanced at the backpack Lip was carrying, worry flashing across his face. "If you get caught, it's not gonna be small."
Lip snorted.
"Well, if Fiona's the one paying all that rent, how long do you think she can hold out?"
He looked sideways at Ian, eyes hard.
"This is self-rescue, buddy."
As he spoke, Lip grabbed the cigarette from Ian's lips, took a drag, then exhaled.
"So where are you selling?" Ian asked. "School?"
Seeing Lip was dead set, Ian didn't push further.
"Yep," Lip said casually. "School's a dangerous place, you know. The Second Amendment gives everyone the right to protect themselves."
He tossed the line out like a joke.
Ian nearly choked.
"Shut the fuck up. Those are illegal guns."
By the time they spoke, the two of them had already reached the front door.
Lip pulled out his keys and unlocked it.
"Holy shit—can't you two do this in Fiona's room?!"
Inside the house, the "battlefield" was still intense.
But the moment the door opened, Fiona yanked her dress back into place in a panic, scrambling to cover herself.
"You guys… why are you home so early?"
She threw the question out casually, trying to hide the embarrassment.
William didn't look embarrassed at all—he was still calmly fastening his belt, like nothing happened.
Lip was about to answer, but then he noticed something behind them—
a stroller, and inside it…
a Black baby.
"Liam? Why is he back here?"
Lip and Ian immediately dropped their backpacks and rushed over.
William's eyes flicked to Lip's bag—tossed casually onto the floor.
That dull, heavy thump.
Whatever was inside, it wasn't light.
So Lip had already gone to that Russian woman to pick up inventory.
Tsk.
This was about to get interesting.
But it couldn't blow up in front of Fiona—not yet.
If she caught on early and stopped it, the fun would be over.
"Well," Fiona explained, choosing her words carefully, "Monica's girlfriend… had an accident and died. Monica can't raise Liam alone."
She didn't mention Monica's real plan—moving back in.
"Wow," Lip said coldly, not even trying to hide the sarcasm. "That's huge news. Good for her."
Fiona shot him a look, then glanced at William beside her.
"Want to stay for dinner?"
"No." William shook his head. "I've got stuff tonight. I'm not exactly free."
"Okay…" Fiona tried not to show it, but disappointment flashed through her face.
She'd been hoping to spend the night with him.
Guess that fantasy was dead.
"Oh—by the way," William added, like it was nothing, "I might be leaving for a while in a few days."
"Leaving? Where? For how long?" Fiona asked immediately, worry creeping in.
"Not sure yet," William said. "Could be a few days. Could be a month or two."
He didn't dare commit to anything—he still didn't know what kind of "world" he'd end up opening next.
---
Night fell.
The sky dimmed until the streetlights took over.
William headed for the Russian woman's base in the red-light district.
He circled behind the building and tested the back door.
Unlocked.
Looks like Tasha and Nastya had done their job well.
He slipped inside, shut the door quietly behind him, and went straight down to the basement.
For now, it was just a storage space.
A few random chairs, a couple tables.
Nothing special.
William raised one hand—
and in a single motion, he dumped a full batch of M4A1s, tactical helmets, grenades, and other gear into the open space.
Then, using the $60,000 in cash he'd recovered from Frank last time, he placed another order:
more M9 pistols, Peshawar S&W 745s, Peshawar .50 revolvers, and another load of M4A1s.
In seconds, the weapons occupied almost a quarter of the basement.
Once everything was arranged, William went back upstairs, dropped onto the living room sofa, and sent Nastya a text:
Bring Svetlana and Mandy back.
I need to brief all of you.
---
At a decent restaurant in the red-light district…
Four women sat around a mid-sized table eating.
Mandy.
Svetlana.
Tasha.
Nastya.
Ever since William had quietly allowed them to use money from gun sales, their lives had improved dramatically.
Their clothes were no longer a chaotic mix of summer and winter leftovers—now they wore proper outfits that actually matched the season.
Even their aura had shifted.
Tasha and Nastya in particular carried a faint, almost clean—borderline holy—presence now.
Their style had changed too: no more provocative "working" look, replaced by conservative, modest clothing.
Of course, the biggest change was simple—
they'd used that money to buy themselves back from Sasha.
They weren't property anymore.
They were free.
Svetlana still carried that fierce "Eastern European" edge—combat-girl energy—but without the heavy red-light grime clinging to her anymore.
The only one who hadn't changed much was Mandy.
Mostly because she still had school.
William had spoken to her privately.
He wanted her to finish her education—ideally go to college.
Because once they grew bigger, they'd need someone to manage money and accounts.
That promise of a future role had lit Mandy on fire.
Even if she wasn't exactly gifted academically, she was grinding like her life depended on it.
"My boss just texted me," Nastya said, feeling her phone vibrate. She checked it, then typed a quick message to show the others.
Boss says he needs us back.
Something important.
Mandy frowned. "Why does William text you but not me?"
It wasn't jealousy exactly—more confusion.
But Svetlana felt the same unease.
Ever since that day they'd arranged for William to meet the two girls…
Tasha and Nastya had turned into his absolute loyalists overnight.
And worse—William seemed to trust them more than he trusted her.
That put a cold knot of danger in Svetlana's chest.
Because she knew the truth:
she wasn't irreplaceable.
"That's something you should ask him," Nastya replied, shaking her head. "Without his permission, I can't tell you."
After letting Mandy read the message, she put her phone away.
"Tch. Acting all mysterious," Mandy muttered, rolling her eyes—but she didn't push it further.
---