Chapter 5
CASH “MONEY” BANKS
THREE MONTHS LATER…
My body jerked, and I let out a low grunt as I came in her mouth. Princess didn’t flinch, looking up at me through her thick lashes as she swallowed like a champ.
“Mmm… still taste good, Money,” she purred, licking her lips.
I rolled my neck and blew out a hard breath as I fixed my boxers and headed for the bathroom. I wiped myself down with a warm washcloth before pulling on my pants and checked myself in the mirror.
Despite everything, I was still him. I ran a hand over my freshly trimmed beard, adjusted my collar, and slid on the new AP watch I’d treated myself to.
When I stepped back out, Princess was perched on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, smiling like she hadn’t just been choking on my dick.
“You look good, Daddy,” she said.
“Mm,” I hummed in response. I could’ve had on a cruddy outfit, smelling like outside, and she still would’ve gotten on her knees for me. That’s just how Princess moved. Always playing a long game, thinking she was three moves ahead.
We had an on-again, mostly off-again thing—but ever since the shooting, she’d been trying to play nurse wifey. Cooking for me like I ain’t have a private chef. Fussing over me when I was still on pain meds, acting like we were in some kind of relationship.
She was definitely trying to get permanently chose this go-round, but that was never happening.
She’d been ran through by damn near every heavy hitter in the city—rappers, hustlers, Tubi actors, whoever had a little paper.
That wasn’t the issue. I’d never been pressed about her body count.
The problem was, Princess wasn’t as slick as she thought she was.
She swore she was playing chess, but she moved like a groupie—chasing men to fund her lifestyle in the hopes that one of them would eventually wife her.
And no matter how many times we fell out, she always circled back, ‘cause none of them other niggas had motion like me.
“Come on, P,” I said, walking out of the room without acknowledging her compliment.
We were heading to the big-ass party Jelani insisted on throwing for me, calling it my “return to the streets.”
Like I ever really left.
I tried to get discharged a few days after I came out of the coma, but my body was too fucked up.
I ended up hiring a private medical team to handle my recovery at my condo close to the hospital, because there was no way in hell I was eating that nasty-ass food for another month.
It took a minute, but aside from the occasional phantom pains, I was still breathing.
That’s all that mattered.
And I was ready to smoke out the bitch-ass niggas who tried to take me out.
“I’m so excited!” Princess squealed, sliding into the back seat of the Maybach.
Hassan, my driver, gave me a nod in the rearview mirror. “You lookin’ like your old self, Money.”
“Appreciate that, bruh,” I smiled, climbing in beside her.
She was already pouring herself a glass of champagne from the center console.
“Damn, you couldn’t put your seatbelt on first?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She giggled, passing me the glass. “This was for you.”
I side-eyed her, taking it knowing damn well she wasn’t thinking about me. Honestly, this was probably the last night I fucked with her. I know she thought this invite meant we were taking things to the next level, but I just needed arm candy… and maybe a little pussy later.
Princess poured herself a glass and slid her hand between my thighs, rubbing on my crotch.
“Whatchu doing?” I asked, moving her hand away, even though I was starting to get hard.
“I thought we could have some fun before we got there,” she whispered, leaning over to kiss on my neck.
“P, chill with all that,” I said, shrugging her off. “I’m not trying to have your makeup all over my clothes and get there smelling like sex.”
She sucked her teeth and poked her bottom lip out. “Thought you liked the way my pussy smelled,” she mumbled.
“Don’t start this shit,” I sighed, already regretting that I brought her.
“Start what, Money? I’m just trying to love on my man before his party.”
“Your what?” I almost choked on my drink. I set the glass down and turned to face her. “Princess, we’ve never been anything more than fuck buddies—please be so fucking for real right now.”
Her face dropped, and her bottom lip started to quiver. “But—”
I held up my hand, cutting her off. “Nah. Don’t do that. I appreciate you being around during my recovery—but I never asked you to do that. And if you’re gonna be on some goofy shit tonight, I’ll have Hassan turn around and take your ass home.”
She glared at me, her mouth drawn in a thin line, clearly debating whether to crash out or not. But she didn’t say shit, and we didn’t say another word for the rest of the ride. Hassan turned the music up to fill the silence while we busied ourselves with our phones.
“Fix your face,” I muttered as we pulled up to Palladium.
Outside was jumping. Cars were double-parked, folks were arguing with security, and the line stretched down the block. Cameras started flashing the second I stepped out. Hassan had to hold the photographers back while I helped Princess out of the car.
The woman was irksome, but I had to admit she had that shit on tonight. Her white mesh dress looked painted on, and her hair was slicked into a high ponytail that brushed her ass.
Three glasses of champagne and half an edible in, I was halfway rethinking about cutting her off after tonight.
Halfway.
“Bout time you got here, bitch nigga!” Jelani hollered from the club entrance, grinning. “Bring your bougie ass on!”
I laughed, shaking my head as we bypassed the line and walked up.
Inside was packed. The DJ had the crowd going crazy spinning Lil Baby’s Never Finished. The whole place smelled like weed, sweat, and bad decisions about to be made.
I threw my arm around Princess’s waist, rapping bar for bar with Lani as we pushed through the dance floor.
Cheers erupted the second we hit the stop of the VIP stairs.
Slim, Fontaine, and the rest of the crew were already posted up with bottles, blunts, and beautiful women.
Bottles were popping, and the drinks were flowing.
The vibe was immaculate.
“This is love,” I said, clapping my brother on the back. “Thank you, bruh.”
“Don’t get soft on me now, pussy,” he laughed, pulling me in for a hug before I could brush him off.
“Whatever, dickhead,” I smirked.
“What’s up, Jelani?” Princess cut in, handing me a shot.
“P,” he said flatly, not even bothering to look at her. He hated Princess, but he had promised me he would be cordial with her tonight.
I tossed back the shot, the burn settling in my chest as I scanned the crowd below.
“Security is tight tonight,” Jelani said, leaning against the railing.
“I wish a nigga would try and fuck up my party,” I scoffed, getting heated at the thought.
“They won’t,” he said, tapping the piece tucked into his waistband. “But if they do… you already know—”
“We on go,” I finished our old line.
“Ay! We turnin’ up, or y’all finna talk all night?” Slim yelled, waving a bottle of Hennessy and a blunt in the air.
Shit got hazy after that. The shots kept coming, and I lost track of how many blunts were in rotation.
My head was buzzing, but I felt invincible.
Standing on the couch with my Gucci shirt hanging open, I rapped along to Jeezy’s Who Dat.
The whole section was lit, feeding off my energy.
Even Princess was swaying, drink in hand, like we weren’t just beefing a few hours ago.
I hopped down and headed to the railing—I needed a minute to breathe.
That's when I saw her.
Might’ve been the weed. Could’ve been the liquor. But it was like everything in the club fell away. The music faded, the lights blurred, and all I could see was her, moving through the crowd with her friend in tow.
Shorty was thicker than a bowl of grits—little waist, thick thighs, and an ass that had me ready to risk it all. Her black lace black bodysuit clung to her like second skin. Her smooth, toffee-colored skin seemed to glow under the club lights, and her long, wavy hair fell down her back.
Her glossy lips curved into a smile as she leaned in to whisper in her friend’s ear.
She moved like she knew she was that girl.
She didn’t belong down there with the regulars. She belonged in VIP. Next to me.
Her friend tugged her arm, trying to guide her through the crowd, but she moved at her own pace—unbothered by all the bodies brushing past her.
I leaned over the balcony, tracking her every move. I didn’t just want her name—I needed to know everything about her. Needed to know where she was from and what I needed to do to make her smile like that.
I tore my eyes away from her just long enough to find the stairs and started moving.
I didn’t know who she was yet, but one thing was for sure: I wasn’t leaving this club without talking to my future wife.