Chapter 6
JASMINE MILLER
I swear I was too old to be at the club, but Monica said she was tired of me being grumpy all the time, and if I wasn’t getting laid, then we needed to go out, shake some ass, and let fine men buy us drinks all night.
That’s exactly how I ended up in a bodysuit with my goodies out, pregaming at her condo like we were in our twenties.
“Exactly, friend!” she said, nodding approvingly at my outfit when I showed up. “You were starting to look like thoughts and prayers. We had to wake up your inner bad bitch.”
I rolled my eyes and threw back another shot of tequila.
It’d been rough in the two months since the incident—what I’d been calling that wild-ass night at Peachtree.
People said I was being dramatic for taking two weeks off after that mess, but I’m sorry—how was I supposed to work after having a gun pressed to my head?
I’d seen a lot of shit in my ten years of nursing, but never that.
I didn’t even tell my parents. If my daddy found out, he’d be on the next flight down, dragging me back to Queens like a wayward child.
Monica did actually quit for real this time—kind of.
She cut her hours down to per diem and got a sweet gig at Southside General.
Meanwhile, I was still stuck at that fuck-ass hospital.
I had a few coworkers I was cool with, but it wasn’t the same without my girl on the floor with me regularly.
I was keeping my fingers crossed for a travel nurse position to open up, but until then I was stuck.
The only upside in all this was the five-figure deposit that hit my account a few days after everything went down. I had a strong suspicion Jelani was behind it, but I wasn’t trying to do any mental gymnastics to figure out how he got my info. I had no desire to run into him ever again.
Wouldn’t mind seeing Cash, though.
When our Uber dropped us to the club an hour later, I was tipsy and already forgetting about the bullshit from work. The DJ had everybody going up for a Gucci Mane track and the bass thumped so hard that I could feel it in my chest. For the first time in a long time, I felt good.
“Let’s dance!” Monica shouted over the music, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the dance floor.
We pushed through a tangle of sweaty bodies, laughing until we found a spot in the middle. On cue, the DJ switched it up and played the opening of Travis Porter’s Bring it Back—the whole club lost it.
“This my shit!” I screamed, throwing my ass back as the beat dropped.
“Whatchu know about this, New York?” Monica teased, as she danced right along with me.
It felt like the whole club was caught up in the same wave. My hair stuck to my forehead from the sweat, but I didn’t care. The liquor had me loose and I leaned into the feeling—remembering when nights like this were a regular thing for me.
I tensed when I felt a warm body press up behind me. Big hands found my hips—not rough, but firm enough to get my attention. He started moving with me, matching my rhythm a little too well. I usually didn’t dance with random dudes in the club, but fuck it.
“Okay, Jas! I see you!” Monica hyped me up, still doing her own thing.
I grinned, silently praying that this dude didn’t look like a gremlin. His grip stayed steady as I bent over and popped my ass like I had Megan Thee Stallion’s knees and not thirty-six-year-old ones.
He pulled me closer, and the hardness pressing against me let me know exactly what time it was. A slow smirk spread across my face, and I rolled my hips a little harder—just to see if he could handle it.
He slid his hand up my back, guiding me upright until I was flush against his chest.
“Damn, girl,” he murmured in my ear.
I bit my lip. Please God, if you love me, let him be fine. ‘Cause that voice alone made my stomach flutter.
The DJ transitioned into a slower, more mellow track, breaking me out of my trance. Breathless, I moved his hand off me and started to step away—but he caught my arm.
“Hol’up,” he said, gently pulling me back toward him.
I spun around, ready to tell him to fall back, but my mouth fell open instead.
Cash Banks was standing front of me.
The same man partially responsible for the worst shift of my life.
Very much alive. Very much awake. Shirt open, sweat glistening on his tattooed chest.
“You,” I breathed, yanking my arm free as heat rose up my neck.
His head tilted slightly, curiosity lighting up his eyes. “I know you?”
The man was fine as frog hair, but that cocky look made me want to swing on him.
“Ay, can I get everyone’s attention?” the DJ’s voice boomed over the speakers, cutting the music with a record scratch. A spotlight beamed down on me and Cash like we were the main event.
“We’re here to celebrate the big homie, Money Banks!”
The crowd went up—the way everyone was screaming and cheering, you would’ve thought the DJ said Beyoncé just walked in. Cash smiled, tossing up a lazy wave like he was in a pageant.
“Good to see you back on your feet, my boy! And much love for covering the medical bills for everybody that got caught up at the block party!”
More cheers.
So I guess the blogs weren’t lying about everybody loving him.
“BC in the building tonight! Let’s go!”
When the DJ dropped another track, I slipped out of Cash’s grip, snatched Monica’s drunk ass, and hauled us off the dance floor before he could follow.
“What the hell, Jas?” she slurred when I finally stopped near a dark corner by the VIP stairs.
My heart was pounding, and it felt like something was squeezing my chest as I took in short, shallow breaths. Seeing him brought me right back to that night—the screams, the blood, his stupid brother…
“Jasmine!” Monica waved a hand in front of my face.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “I think I just had a mini panic attack.”
“Because of Money?” She looked at me like I had two heads. “Girl! This is perfect! You need to go back over there and let him trick off on you. Tell him it’s PTSD compensation.”
“Yo, nurse!”
Our heads whipped around to see a very drunk Jelani stumbling down the stairs.
Of course. Because this night couldn’t get any worse.
“Oh, hell no,” I muttered, grabbing Monica’s hand, ready to make another quick exit—only to slam into a wall of muscle.
Cash.
“Why’d you run off, lil mama?” he grinned, showing off his gold fangs.
And Lord help me—if I thought he was cute laid up in a hospital bed, the man was a walking vision of sin right now. The shape-up was crisp, his beard was moisturized, and his dark brown skin was practically glowing—a complete 180 from the comatose version I’d seen a few months ago.
“Nurse! What you doin’ here?” Jelani slurred, cheesing at me like we were old friends. He looked like a baby-faced version of his older brother. They were built the same, but Cash had a few inches on him. And while Cash kept his hair in a fade, Jelani had locs with tapered sides.
“It’s still fuck you,” I snapped, mushing him in his forehead when he got too close. Monica gasped as he stumbled back onto the steps, barely catching himself on the railing.
“Aw, come on, you still mad about that? I said I was sorry,” he whined, slumping against the wall.
“You pressed a gun to my head!”
“Yeah, yeah… but I sent your mean ass fifteen bands,” he shrugged.
“That’s not a fucking apology.”
“Fifteen thousand?” Monica echoed, eyes wide. She was probably kicking herself for walking off the unit that night.
Cash looked between us. “Yo, how you know my brother?”
“Yeah, Lani,“ I said sweetly, dragging out the nickname. “How do I know you?”
Cash’s expression darkened instantly. “Lani? The fuck she calling you nicknames for?” He hemmed up Jelani by his shirt and slammed him against the wall.
Jelani blinked slowly and shoved Cash back with one hand. These two were drunk, drunk.
“This the nurse that got you into surgery,” Jelani nodded toward me like he was giving me a Yelp review. “You owe her. Probably the only reason your dumb ass is still breathing.”
I rolled my eyes, but my face was burning.
Cash turned to me, licking his lips slowly. “Word?”
The simple gesture was enough to make my pussy throb.
“I just did my job,” I said quickly. “Monica, let’s go.”
I reached for her hand, but she didn’t move.
“She don’t look like she tryna leave,” Jelani chuckled.
“Bitch, you’re a traitor,” I hissed at her, narrowing my eyes.
“Jas, come on!” Monica whined. “We can just chill for a little bit and have a few drinks. I need to sit down—my feet hurt.”
I felt Cash’s eyes burning into me, waiting for me to decide.
“Ain’t no harm in having a little fun,” he said, sliding his arm around my waist. “I don’t bite…unless you ask me to.”
Jelani nodded beside him, rubbing his hands, gaze zeroed in on Monica. “We just two rich niggas trying to show y’all a good time.”
Cash leaned in, lips brushing my ear. “I’m tryna get to know the woman who saved my life.”
My brain was screaming at me to run, but my body was a traitor—like Monica. His cologne wrapped around me like a spell, and I felt myself slipping.
“Jasmine,” I blurted.
“Huh?”
“My name’s Jasmine,” I said, pushing him off harder than necessary. “Fine. But we’re not staying all night.”
Monica squealed and let Jelani lead her up the stairs. I followed behind, ignoring the smug ass grin spreading across Cash’s face.
Their section was on a whole other level—literally. An armed security guard was posted by the roped-off section, stepping aside when the Banks brothers approached.
It was like a private lounge, plush couches wrapped around low glass tables covered in bottles and hookahs, and a thick haze of weed and fruit-flavored smoke hung in the air.
“This is nice,” Monica whispered as we followed them deeper in.
The energy shifted when they walked in—they radiated power. Both brothers had big dick energy, but Cash was different.