Page 6 of Ruger
Approaching the door, I felt her little palms push me.
"Don't call me no more! Asshole!"
I swiftly turned, grabbing April by the neck and pushing her against the wall. The action was subtle, but I applied a little pressure to let her know I wasn't playing.
"Don't put your hands on me in that way, April. I don't put my hands on you, so don't go that way with me." Her crazy ass moaned and placed her hands on my hips, pulling me to her.
"I'm sorry. Can you just stay for a little longer? I can make you something to eat. What do you like?"
I could see the lust dancing in her orbs, and I shook my head while releasing her.
A half smile lifted on my face. "You're crazy. I'll get at you later. I got shit to do," I told her, opening the door to her apartment and walking out.
I had been dealing with April for about six months now. It wasn't as often as her crazy ass wanted, and that was for a reason. Like most women, she couldn't grasp the concept of having boundaries, and that often led me to stay away for weeks at a time. If I fucked with you, then you were the only one getting the dick. I didn't go around fucking every woman in sight, even when I knew I could. I preferred to stick with what I knew versus adding bodies I had to juggle. It wasn't often that I found a chick worthy enough to damage her insides lethally, but April had caught my eye when she strolled into my bar one night. Her sad eyes told the story of her heartbroken past.
I'd like to think I was a healer, and I just wanted to put a smile on her pretty face. However, I laid out the ground rules. I even had her ass sign a contract stating that what we had was strictly sexual. There would be no overnight stays or dates,but if she ever needed me to break her off, I'd happily oblige. I should have known she would want more. Women always did. They always wanted what wasn't available to them, then got mad when they couldn't have the one thing they always pined after — my heart. I saw enough niggas getting their hearts broken or heavily into toxic relationships to know I ain't want that shit. Loving someone felt too much like a job, and I already had a lot on my plate. Drama, toxicity, and stress seemed to be key factors in relationships, so I was cool on that.
Hopping on my bike, I put my helmet on and started the engine. I kicked it off the kickstand, looked both ways, then pulled off her block nice and easy, heading to meet Gruesome, who I had waiting at my house.
Each man in my crew had a story, including myself. Grue's story was a little rocky because of his mental health. From what he told me, his parents split on him and his sister when he turned eighteen. From there, he became a stick-up kid just to get by until he ran into an old head that took him in.
He was only twenty when I met him. It wasn't a pleasant greeting either. The nigga was trying to break into my bike shop. I hemmed his ass up, about to crack his jaw, when somebody pulled up, explaining that he was off his meds, and pleaded for me not to hurt him. I recognized him as Trenton, one of my employees at the shop, and an old friend of my father's. I let him go on account of Trent, but I warned him to get his ass in check or the next time he was getting a bullet. The very next day, Trent brought him back to my shop, asking if he could work for me. I initially said, 'fuck no'. I didn't want his thieving ass working for me, but because I respected Trent, I heard him out.
Gruesome introduced himself to me with his government name, Ghana, and gave me this whole spiel about him needing to work to take care of his sister. A sister I'd never seen until today. I could sense he was being genuine, so I allowed him towork for me. I was only twenty-two when my pops handed his bike shop over to me. I had just graduated from WSU, and as a graduation gift, he gave me the keys, and since then, it has been my pride and joy. I kept an eye on Grue for almost a year before I could trust him. From then on, he had been my left-hand... but he knew the rules. Never leave a nigga to talk unless he feared what would happen if he did. Those Blaze niggas didn't give a fuck about a fuck, so I already knew that when he walked into my bar screaming they had his sister, he was making me come off the bench.
Out of all the years I'd known him, Grue kept his sister tucked away. I never thought too much about it and just chucked it up to his mental condition and dubbed him as delusional. When he came in enraged, I hesitated because I really thought shorty wasn't real. When I pulled that sackcloth from her head, my world paused. I had never been stumped for words, but she had me speechless. Kenzi's smooth, rich mocha skin tone was blemish-free, with a beauty mark on the left side of her top lip. Her hair was big and was in tight curls. Her eyes were the same color as her skin, with a slender nose and full pink lips. Shorty was magnificent if I had to describe her. However, that mouth was reckless, so I knew I wouldn't be entertaining any thoughts of taking her down.
Pulling up to my condo, I could see Grue sitting on my front steps. He was smoking a cigarette, looking fucking stressed, as the fuck he should be.
I parked my bike in the driveway and walked over to him.
"I thought you quit them nasty shits."
"Yeah, well, I started back up again."
"This is on you, Grue. A man protects his family from danger. Your sister should have never been hanging around them clowns, anyway."
"I didn't know, Ruger. That thot bitch she calls a best friend had her hanging around them niggas. And Kenz don't tell me shit. Her ass lives in Rochester, away from the city. I never exposed her to my world because she ain't like me. She's too soft."
I scoffed. "Soft? Nah, her ass ain't soft at all," I disagreed, thinking about her feisty-ass attitude.
"She talks tough, but her ass is Jell-O."
"What's your plan, Ghana?" I asked, changing the subject. He blew out a heavy breath and looked off. "I'm ready for whatever time them niggas on. I know they ain't gon' let this shit go, so I need to handle them first."
"You know what you gotta do, right?" His head lowered. "Nah, hold ya head up, G. What was my number one rule when you joined MCR?"
"Never move recklessly. Recklessness results in punishment," he recited.
I nodded. "I'm only hard on you niggas because I don't like hurting motherfuckas. My club wasn't built on larceny or malice. I built this club to show people that there are people out here who still give a fuck about others. Honor Santana. May he rest in eternal peace. He taught his family how to show humility, grace, and resilience. I take his lessons with me everywhere I go and apply that shit to my everyday life. I operate in peace, and when my peace gets disturbed, that's a problem for me, because now I gotta be on demon time. And for what? Some shit that ain't got shit to do with me?"
"I apologize, man. I know how you are, and I wasn't thinking. It's on me, though. You don't have to fight my battles."
I frowned at him. "What's my second rule?"
"Come on, Ru," Grue said, running his hand down his fade.
"What is it, nigga?"
