Chapter 1
Twenty years later…
“Why can’t I come into the club with you, Rose? You got a bitch in there you trying to hide from me?” Nadia Faulks rolled her slanted hazel eyes toward Ambrose and blinked several times while he looked at her like he hadn’t heard her.
“Nadia, I hit you with this dick already. The fuck wrong with you? I just got back into town—”
“And you spent an hour with me before you were getting dressed and having me take you all around town to make sure your shit was straight. What the fuck you think I am, a chauffeur or something?” she responded snippily.
“You sounding like my fucking woman right now, and I don’t like that shit.” He shook his head before glaring in her direction. “I appreciate you holding down the gym and everything for me, and I did thank you, am I right?” He tilted his head.
Nadia shifted in her seat, still upset. She hated that Rose had this kind of control over her life.
He took her virginity way back when and they’d been off and on since.
He would walk away, and she would let him.
She would find a new nigga, try to give him a chance, but any time Rose was around, she knew it was always a possibility that they would have sex.
Neither of them could help themselves. The art of fucking was mastered years ago.
Now that they were in their thirties it was even more lit.
She loved him, but he didn’t know how to love her correctly.
No commitment were his words. He wasn’t interested in being a one-woman kind of man.
He didn’t even see the point of that shit.
The only semi healthy relationship he’d ever seen was Max and his wife Mila, and they still went through their share of drama.
“I want more than sex from you, Rose. How is it we’ve been together all these years and you still don’t get that?”
“Nadia, we broke up after high school. The fuck you mean all these years? You decided to walk away and do what was best for you. I didn’t fault you for that shit.
I just want you to be good. You deserve that.
What you want, I can’t give you. You know that.
But I got this dick for you on deck. Just hit me up.
” Rose leaned forward and kissed her cheek before he hopped out of her BMW.
Slamming the door shut, he walked toward the rear entrance to the club.
This nigga named Forrest was parked outside the door, one foot propped on the wall blowing smoke from the cigarette in his mouth.
Rose mugged the shit out of him on his way inside.
Since high school, he never liked that nigga.
He was a snake for real, and his name had come up in a lot of conversations that got niggas locked up.
“The fuck you looking at, rat? Matter of fact, the fuck you even doing hanging around here?” Rose stopped in his tracks and addressed him.
Laughing with his home, Forrest dropped his cigarette and stomed it out before pushing himself off the brick wall.
“These niggas might give you a pass, but as long as I’m around, you already know what the fuck it is,” Rose made clear.
“Man, fuck you. This ain’t yo’ city.” Forrest waved him off, knowing full well that Rose didn’t play when it came to disrespect.
Flaring his nostrils, Rose rushed him, forcing his back into the wall and getting in his face.
He didn’t bother going for his heat, this nigga knew what it was.
The streets talked, and they had a lot to say about Ambrose Westbrook.
His name rang bells, and they weren’t for holiday cheer.
More like death tolls that sent ice sweeping up your spine.
Breath caught in his chest, with Rose’s dark, piercing eyes on him, he was tight. His homies too back like some bitches.
“Say that shit to my face, nigga!” Rose growled, waiting for Forrest to speak up. “What, nigga? Tongue tied or something? Let me help you out.” Going into his waist, he withdrew his pistol and held it at his side.
“Aye, bruh—” Forrest’s partner, Richie, stepped up behind Rose.
“I suggest you stay out of this, my nigga. It ain’t shit to dig two graves.” Rose’s deadly stare over his shoulder sent Richie tossing his hands up and backing off.
Bitch ass nigga. Rose turned his attention back to Forrest. He brought the barrel of the gun to his chin and looked him right in the eye.
Something told him to pop him there, but there was going to be too much clean up.
It was coming though. Other motherfuckers might have been okay with him roaming around, but Rose wasn’t them.
“When I see you again, it’s gon’ be to put you in a body bag. The king is back. And I ain’t about to let some snitch ass nigga wander these streets. I don’t trust you. If you smart, you’ll leave.”
“Do what you need to do, Rose. Shit changes, and you been gone a year. Some people know how to let certain shit go when it comes to getting the paper. Business over beef, king.” Forrest mocked, and it took everything in Rose not to squeeze on him right there.
Jerking away from him, he pulled his gun out his face. Angrily tucking his bottom lip in between his teeth, he grilled the shit out of him.
“I don’t give a fuck about none of that.” Rose tucked his weapon back into his pants and covered it with his shirt. “I said what the fuck I said.”
Dynamite was a local underground club formerly owned by Gannon Rowland.
Friday nights always brought out all the cities hustlers and finest females.
Minka Ward was at the top of that list. VIP was like another world, and while Kendrick Lamar blared over the sound system, the crowd went wild.
In the middle of the dance floor, Minx wound her body to the beat with her drink in hand and in the air.
Tipsy as hell, every instrument played throughout her body when she moved.
She was hood royalty, and everyone knew her, so it was no skepticism when they saw her fucking shit up on the floor.
From the top level, Gannon tossed back his beverage and watched her put on a show.
She ate the crowd up, dropping it low and throwing her ass back.
“Damn, who Minx think she auditioning for?” Finn slid up beside him, guzzling the Ace of Spades in his glass.
The money green suit and black shirt gave him a sharp, sophisticated look.
Finn always considered himself a fly nigga, giving young Ice-T vibes in his mannerisms and clever comebacks.
He was more than than the gangster rapper, with a low-cut fade that he typically kept covered with a hat.
Giving grown man with his beard and mustache, he drove the women crazy when he was around.
Gannon chuckled and shook his head. Minx was carefree, and that wasn’t ever changing.
She loved attention, and she loved to party.
Her tiny ass dress rode her thighs, and and Gannon licked his lips, devouring her with his gaze.
Unlike majority of the men in this building, he knew exactly what rested between her legs.
She was sitting on gold, that was for fucking sure.
“She’s in her zone. You know how she is.” He shrugged.
“You one tolerant ass nigga.” Finn shook his head and continued to watch her go.
Gannon and Minx started dating about eight months ago.
He worked for her father for years, so they they were always in one another’s orbit.
It used to be they would just see each other in passing and go about their shit.
One night, Max was having dinner with Gannon and Minx and had to leave.
The two ended up sharing a meal and went from there.
Gannon hadn’t taken the time to get to know her before then.
He always thought she was spoiled and entitled.
He couldn’t have been more wrong. There were layers to Minx, and she didn’t show everybody, so they had to dig deep to get to them.
Nearly a year later and Gannon was still chipping away at them.
He figured with enough time, she would turn to him and learn to confide in him.
“I just ain’t insecure. She ain’t hurting nobody down there.” Gannon used his drink to emphasize the dance area.
“A’ight, if you say so.” Finn spun, and the figure cutting through the crowd made him smile.
With milk-chocolate skin, standing at six feet two, Rose strolled through the velvet rope like he owned everything around him.
His presence was strong, regal, and potent.
Most of the women immediately took notice when he pushed his way through the sea of people and over to Gannon and Finn.
He was the kind of nigga to change the cadence in the room without speaking.
“My mothafucking nigga.” Finn slapped hands with him, and they embraced as soon as Rose got within arms reach.
Dressed down in distressed jeans, a button-down Tom Ford shirt, and a pair of St. Laurents on his feet, he was labeled up.
He wasn’t interested in the business casual look tonight.
After being back in town a few days, he knew he would have to be in grit mode until he felt settled.
Two diamond Cuban-link chains hung from his neck against his black shirt, and a Rolex gleamed on his wrist. Gannon paused and faced Rose, sizing him up and vice versa.
Wasn’t no love lost between the two of them.
Unlike Gannon and Finn, he and Rose weren’t friends.
Coming up they both traveled within the same circle, but that was purely association.
“Feels good to be back on home soil.” Rose pulled back and chucked his chin at Gannon. “’Sup, G.”
“What’s good, Rose?” Gannon raised his glass in greeting. “Been MIA almost a year now.”
“Never too far. You keeping tabs on me or something?” Rose replied, balling one fist and pressing it into the palm of his other hand.