Amaris
YOU ONE OF THEM ARCHITECTURAL KIND OF brOADS…
“I can make the dope stretch, I can teach finesse (finesse) And I’m ’bout my check, you better come correct. These hoes stay choosin’, trap straight boomin’! I’m a pack mover, I’m a weight loser…
The second I pushed through the stockroom door and stepped back onto the floor of Spike’s lounge, a permanent crease dented the middle of my forehead. The music wrapped around me louder than what it normally did. Spike’s always came alive a little after nine p.m. but this alive felt different.
The lights were dimmed low enough to soften everybody’s edges.
Gold wall sconces casted shadows across the brick panels my dad had imported piece by piece to make the place feel older than it really was.
Long amber shelves behind the bar glowed with liquor bottles.
Black leather booths curved along the walls elegantly.
This wasn’t no strip club chaos. This was grown money nightlife where bosses got away to have quiet conversations and possibly make private deals. People who didn’t want cameras but still wanted attention. Tonight felt like the opposite.
My boots clicked steady across the dark hardwood as I walked past the main bar.
“Evening, Miss Reed.” Marcus nodded from behind the counter while polishing glassware. He paused to admire me like he always did.
He licked his pink lips and winked at me.
I smirked and nodded my head instead of speaking to simply feel Marcus out.
He loved to flirt. Although he made it seem like it was playful banter, I knew somewhere deep inside he wanted me.
Marcus was fine with long curly hair that he kept braided neatly to the back.
He was tall and medium built, and was a pretty boy. Nothing was wrong with that to me.
It’s just that Marcus was bi-sexual and freaked the hell out.
“You behaving tonight?” I asked, finally deciding to make small talk with him.
“Always, Miss Reed.” He winked, wetting his pink lips again.
“That’s a damn lie,” I spoke over the music, finding myself annoyed that it was so damn loud.
Marcus grinned before I kept walking toward the Velvet area. Two regulars near table four lifted their drinks when they saw me.
“Boss Lady.”
I nodded back before speaking.
“Spend something.” I winked.
They laughed, making everything feel a little more normal besides the blaring rap music. My stomach, however, still felt tight because the deeper I walked toward the back velvet hallway that led to the VIP lounge, the more I started noticing something didn’t belong.
Security wasn’t mine. The ones that I spotted blended in with people but still stood out to me as out of place.
One of them was near the second bar ordering a drink.
I knew he was security by the way he was dressed in nice street clothes with a gun concealed at the small of his back under his shirt.
Another leaned against the pillar observing the entire space.
My eyes skipped over the entire room and landed on another guard sitting at a corner table watching exits instead of women.
My stomach flipped slow with recognition. Men like the one’s inside of the lounge didn’t come to places like this by accident. Royal was Capo, so he sure as hell wouldn’t move alone.
I kept walking anyway because this was still considered my building. I didn’t care if my pulse started beating somewhere higher than my chest. The velvet curtains separating the VIP room shifted slightly when I reached them.
I can make the dope stretch, I can teach finesse (finesse) And I’m ’bout my check, you better come correct. These hoes stay choosin’, trap straight boomin’! I’m a pack mover, I’m a weight loser…
I blinked my eyes to see if I was trippin’ out and seeing shit that wasn’t really there.
There were two thick, naked ebony strippers in front of the booth making their asses clap in front of my dad’s booth.
A big bulky man stood off to the side, making it rain on the strippers with a grim look on his rugged face.
Royal didn’t acknowledge the strippers, and his fine ass wasn’t sitting like a visitor either.
One arm stretched across the back of the velvet couch while he bobbed his head slowly to the music as he eyed the glass of cognac in front of him.
I stood next to the curtains and took in his full appearance from afar.
His navy-blue suit jacket was open wide with matching dress pants pressed sharply.
Why the hell this nigga ain’t got no shirt on? I asked myself. I should have felt annoyed by his cocky, ignorant appearance. Instead, I felt my clit thump and instantly felt like my pussy betray me. My eyes widened when I realized that I found myself aroused by the sight of this man.
He lifted his hand and waved it casually. His guard noted his gesture and nodded his head in the direction of the Dj booth. Seconds later the music was turned down as Royal sat up in his seat.
“Get them gone, Brutal.” His deep voice drizzled over me smoothly.
The guard now known as Brutal grunted but shooed the naked strippers away.
Why the hell did he have them here to begin with?
I wondered. In the midst of the strippers picking up the money that littered the floor, Brutal’s eyes connected with mine.
He smirked at me then went back to watching the strippers collect.
My gaze shifted back to Royal. He was a sight to behold.
His thick dark beard was neatly manicured and connected perfectly to his mustache; it glistened with oil which meant he kept it maintained on the regular.
He lifted his hand and stroked it as if he was making sure it remained in place.
His eyes scoured the expansive room like he was unimpressed with his observations.
I was so deep into staring at his entire dominating physique that I started to count all eight of his exposed tatted abs. My mouth watered; his chocolate skin was blemish free and the waves in his head along with his perfect line up made this nigga look unreal.
Shit! Get it together Amaris!!!
Soon as he picked up a blunt from what I now discovered was an ashtray in front of him and lit it, I managed to clear my throat.
That got his attention, and I suddenly wished I hadn’t made my presence known so soon.
My breath slowed before I realized it had changed because Royal wasn’t looking around the room. He was looking directly at me.
His dark eyes slid over me once, and my stomach tightened again.
The closer I got the tighter my stomach twisted.
I made it to the table in seconds then discovered his long curly lashes.
His nostrils flared as he continued to dissect me with his almond-shaped eyes.
His eyebrows narrowed as an unreadable expression struck his handsome face.
I could tell that he had my 5’11” height at least beat by five to six inches if he stood outside the booth. A faint lift of the corner of his mouth appeared before he licked his lips.
Oh, he one of those cocky ass niggas….
He leaned forward just slightly and took the blunt from his full lips before speaking.
“So you the manager.”
It was more like a statement then a question, so I didn’t answer but got right to where he had me fucked up.
“And you’re the man disrespectfully sitting in my daddy’s booth with funky ass strippers.” I smiled tightly.
Nervousness that I tried to hide came to the forefront when Royal gave no reaction.
“I didn’t see no names on it.” He shrugged.
“It’s implied,” I quickly retorted.
He lifted a thick brow then picked up his glass of cognac and took a slow sip like time moved different for him.
“Amaris Reed,” he said calmly.
My stomach flipped then a sharp cramp shot up my back before I recovered.
I never cowered in front of no man; it didn’t matter who they were.
But now I found it hard to keep eye contact with this man in front of me.
My eyes landed on his eight pack that was littered with tattoos.
His chest told a violent story of betrayal, greed, and pain etched deeply into his skin with ink.
Across his left pec sat a cracked crown, tilted slightly, the jewels falling from it like they’d been knocked loose.
The ink was dark and bold, but the cracks were shaded so deep it looked real, like if I ran my fingers across them I’d feel the break in it.
To anyone else, it might’ve just looked like a king who lost his throne…
but to me, it screamed betrayal. A crown don’t crack unless somebody close enough to touch it breaks it.
You don’t lose something like that from a stranger, only from people you trusted enough to stand beside you.
Below the crown, stretching across his chest, was a snake coiled around a stack of money.
The bills were detailed, folded, almost alive under the ink.
The snake’s body wrapped tight, squeezing like it owned every dollar.
Its eyes were sharp, cold like it was watching anybody who came too close. That one felt like greed to me.
Then there was the piece that sat right over his heart. A bleeding rose with wilted petals, thorns thick and sharp. The stem looked like it had been snapped and pieced back together, but the blood still dripped slow from the petals, trailing down toward his ribs.
I don’t know why, but seeing it made my chest pound. Because those tattoos didn’t look like decoration. They looked like warnings. Like pieces of his past carved into him so he’d never forget what people did to him…or maybe what he did to them….
I shook my head because I always thought too deep into things when it shouldn’t have mattered. The crazy part that made me frown hard was that I wanted to trace every line with my fingers…even knowing they probably came with scars that my ass wasn’t ready to understand.
“You took a good mental picture of me?”
I blinked my eyes then gazed back into his eyes.
“Excuse me?” I cleared my throat uncomfortable all of a sudden.