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“Some people even said you were fighting over her last weekend,” Giselle prodded.
“Okay.”
Giselle sighed when she realized she wasn’t going to get anything out of me. I didn’t owe her or anyone else an explanation about where I stuck my dick. “I just hope this doesn’t interfere with what you and I have going on,” she added.
I didn’t respond at all this time, and thankfully, Giselle caught the hint and shut the fuck up.
An hour later, she finished braiding my hair to my scalp in six neat rows, secured the ends in a knot, and freshened up my fade. I handed her the cash I owed her plus a little extra since I knew she was saving up for her own salon one day. She thanked me before tucking the money inside her handheld safe and reaching for my belt.
“Stop.” I knocked her hand away.
“Stop?” she echoed with a bewildered look on her face. “Since when do you turn down head?”
Never.
Not once had I ever turned down a blow job—especially not one from Giselle, who sucked dick like it was her main job.
“Since now,” I said as I made a beeline for the door. “I’m good. Thanks anyway.”
“It’s because of her, isn’t it? I know you’re not really going to walk away from our thing because of that pigment-challenged bitch!”
I’d been one foot out of the room with Giselle on my heels when she said that hot shit. I turned and snatched her up by her shirt before lifting her until we were at eye level—so much for turning a new leaf. But, for Atlas, I’d be a monster if I had to.
“Let this be the last time you disrespect my girl, or I’ll snap your long neck and leave those badass brats of yours without a mother. Are we clear?” She started crying, but it didn’t faze me one bit. The only tears I cared about were Atlas’s. “Are we clear?” I roared when she didn’t answer me fast enough.
“Yes!”
I dropped her ass and left her crying on the floor as I left her house.
I broke every traffic law on my way to the shop. I needed to see my baby ASAP and make up with her but also break it to her as gently as I could that her home was with me now and she was never leaving. I was almost there when I got a call from an un-stored number. Already knowing who it was and that I couldn’t ignore it, I pressed accept.
“I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time,” mayor Norwood greeted from the other end of the line. “We need to talk.”
Knowing whatever it was couldn’t wait, I disconnected the call without responding and hopped on the interstate to head west.
Lunch had come and gone with no sign of Rowdy, and by the end of my shift, when he still hadn’t shown his face, I was forced to accept reality.
I was stranded at work with no ride home.
No.
Not home, just a place with four walls, a roof, and a crazy man who wouldn’t let me leave.
I was mustering the courage to ask one of the Kings for a ride since Tuesday’s shift didn’t end for hours when I got a text from Ruen.
Ruen: Got a gig 2nite. VIP + booze for moochers n tagalongs. U n?
I hesitated in the space of time it took me to remember this morning before I texted back.
Sure.
Ruen: Cool. C u 2nite.
Or sooner?I texted back.I’m sort of stranded at work and need a ride.
Ruen:?
Long story.
