Chapter 9
Jariyah Navae Owens, what the hell are you doing?
Are you really about to plunge into this wildfire?
I don’t know if it’s Mom’s ultimatum or my desire to dig deeper into what’s developing between Righteous and me.
From the moment I met Righteous, I knew I wanted him, despite the tinge of fear his presence commanded.
But damn if my hands aren’t sweaty as I shuffle through my closet for something appropriate to wear tonight.
I've never been to this type of party. So my nerves are jittery, and my stomach flips like a pancake.
My suggestion to meet Righteous was only to give me time to give myself a pep talk.
My blood ran cold when Righteous told me that he wasn’t talking about his actual family.
In that moment, fear crept up my back and nearly paralyzed me.
Righteous made his club members sound ruthless and heartless—traits I’m unfamiliar with have me in my head, wondering if I’m in over my head.
Hell yeah, you are. But what’s done is done. Put on your big girl panties and pretend you have your stuff together.
That thought causes me to nod and continue my voyage of what I’m going to wear to this shindig.
This isn’t one of the events I attend for Mom, so I know I need to dress differently from what I’m used to.
But damn, what does that even mean? I walk out of my closet, grab my phone, and plop on my bed as my fingers dance over the keys.
I open my internet browser and type a question.
How do motorcycle people dress for parties?
I chew on my index fingernail as the results populate because I really have no idea what I’m doing.
“Hm. Leather jackets, denim, and boots paired with elevated basics like silk scarves. My goodness. I don’t own a leather jacket or a silk scarf other than what I wrap around my hair to sleep.”
My forehead wrinkles as I contemplate whether I have anything in my closet that fits the attire given in this search result. That thought has me closing the internet browser and going to my text app. Without thought, I send a quick message to the one person who has the answers that I need.
Me:
What are you wearing tonight? *side eye emoji*
The reply is immediate, and a hoot of laughter follows.
Righteous:
Nothing. *shrugs*
Before I can recover from his first reply, Righteous sends a new message.
Righteous:
I told you not to sweat this shit. Just put on something that’ll make me want to fuck you in a crowded room.
“What?” My eyes stretch when I read that text because what in the world does that even mean?
Me:
Seriously, Righteous?
Righteous:
As a mothafucking heart attack. Quit overthinking this shit, Jariyah. You’re a beautiful woman, so whatever you wear will enhance what I already know.
“Aw,” I coo.
Righteous is a man without a filter who has occasionally said some things that give me pause.
But this message lets me know that he can boost and affirm me in the best way.
I have been complimented by a man before.
But it feels different coming from Righteous for some reason that’s unidentifiable to me in this moment.
With my confidence no longer in question, I reply.
Me:
Okay. I’ll see you soon.
Righteous:
Count on it.
My heart skips a beat, and butterflies swarm in my stomach when I read the promise in those three words.
I place my phone on the bed and stand to return to my closet.
The amount of jeans I have makes it easy for me to settle on an outfit.
I’m not sure why I’m struggling, because it’s what I wore to my first date with Righteous.
“Ooh, I can just pair the jeans with a black shirt and wear my black peep-toe booties. It should give me a casual look without over- or underdressing,” I say when I reach the closet.
Once I have my chosen attire, I drop it on the bed and then head to the bathroom for a quick shower.
My mind flashes to the shower Righteous and I had taken after our last sex session, which causes my body to heat like an inferno.
My pearl throbs and whines at the reminder of how well Righteous handled my body.
The third leg that Righteous walks around toting should come with a warning label.
Not to mention, the definition of his muscular legs and firm abs that would have every woman he encounters trying to leverage and keep his attention for the long haul.
My shower time is quick, and I step out as air instantly hits my body.
But thanks to the lewd thoughts in my mind, I’m unable to feel the chill that should come with it.
I grab my towel and quickly dry myself off before I move to brush my teeth.
Once that’s done, I leave the bathroom and go through the motions of getting dressed.
Then I go through the process of adding a few curls in my hair so my crown is on point.
When my hair is done, I add a light beat to my face and then leave my bedroom before I can second-guess anything about how I look.
I hold my breath when I exit my front door, then look from left to right, unsure if anyone has been commissioned to watch me.
The coast is clear, so I walk like my feet are on fire to the elevator.
A sigh slips from my lips when the car opens, and no one is inside.
I push the garage button repeatedly and pray for mercy as the elevator descends.
It takes me less than five minutes to reach my SUV, thankfully without incident.
In the safety of my vehicle, I text Righteous.
Me:
Hey. I’m heading in your direction.
I close out the thread between Righteous and me so I can enter the address into the navigation system.
Once the directions load, I pull out of my assigned spot and leave the garage.
Music flows around the interior, and I’m grateful for the light distraction as I head toward the Baxtown Iron festivities.
My heart races with every mile as I contemplate the environment and people I will encounter.
But none of it makes me want to turn around or give Righteous up.
From the garage to the building that houses Righteous and his family, it’s nearly forty minutes.
The numerous motorcycles lining the front of Baxtown Iron MC have me anxious.
There's a group of men in black vests, similar to Righteous’s out front, who watch me like a hawk when I pull into the lot across the street.
The merriment I had before arriving is at war with the intense urge to throw in the towel.
But I refuse to let it win. I send another message to Righteous to let him know I’m here.
Me:
I’m here. I’m in the parking lot across from the building.
Again, Righteous’s reply is instant as I bite my lip before I cringe at the memory of my lip gloss.
Righteous:
Sit tight. I’m coming to get you.
With the knowledge of Righteous on his way to me, I quickly grab my purse to retrieve and reapply my lip gloss. I also give myself a once-over and nod when I’m satisfied with how I look.
“Ah, shit!” I scream when my door is opened.
“Scary ass,” Righteous says.
The smile on his face is genuine and reaches his eyes as my pearl tingles with awareness of his close proximity.
“Do I look okay?” I ask.
Righteous helps me out of the vehicle before his eyes rake over me from head to toe. His eyes darken and become full of lust when they connect with mine.
“I’ll let you know just how much when we have a minute alone. Come on.” Righteous connects our hands, and a smile forms when a zing shoots up my arm.
That reaction settles me and gives me the silent assurance that I need to move forward.
It also lets me know that I’m not crazy for being here.
This moment signifies my presence in Righteous’s life, and I’m ready for whatever is bound to come next.
A sincere smile is in place as I strut beside Righteous with my head held high.
“Man, I thought we were about to shoot that SUV up. Who dis, Righteous?” a burly man asks once we’re inches away from the front of the building.
The man has a deep keloid scar that runs down the right side of his face which matches the mean glower he’s sending me. It takes every ounce of fake tough girl I have not to cower from the hateful look.
“Imagine waking up in the ER at Shadow Stew Memorial after making such a costly mistake. Don’t let your desire to become a patched member have you writing a check your ass can’t cash, probie,” Righteous says.
Righteous’s tone is abrasive, and his words are like a bear in attack mode over someone messing with its cub.
In this moment, I feel protected just the same as my smile widens.
When we enter the building, music instantly rattles my body with its sudden impact.
With the door closed, no one would know what’s going on inside.
My eyes bounce in every direction as I attempt to take in the scene before me.
An overflow of bodies fills what appears to be an expansive room.
Some people are dancing to the music while others are in various conversations.
“Stay close to me,” Righteous tells me as we continue through the space.
I swallow my retort when a woman walks toward us with her eyes set on Righteous.
Her tight eyes and deep frown alert me to her mood, and she seems ready to fight.
Unsure how this is about to go, I tighten my grip on Righteous’s hand.
The woman’s forward progress halts Righteous and my steps as my antenna rises.
“Who’s this bitch, Righteous?” The woman snarls.
My neck snaps back, and I lighten my grip on Righteous’s hand and get ready to reply before Righteous squeezes my hand.
“Someone your pussy could never hold a candle to. Move the fuck around, house mouse,” Righteous says, which sounds like a harder growl than the one he used with the unknown man outside.
Righteous doesn’t offer further discussion before he moves us around the woman whose eyes penetrate me with enough venom to stop my heart.
“I will never let you shift your crown with an irrelevant mothafucka who can’t make me change my mind about you.”
My heart leaps, and my chest warms with the words Righteous speaks despite the hardness of his tone.
“But hold on because the freight train is coming,” Righteous tells me, and I’m unable to process the statement before four men come from the left and right of us.
Unlike the hostile man at the door, I’m unable to decipher what they might be thinking. All of their expressions are void of emotion, which makes me bite my inner cheek. I can’t determine if they’re friend or foe which spikes my blood pressure.
“Well, if it ain’t the princess of the city?” a man who appears to be an inch taller than Righteous asks as he attempts to bow.
My eyes balloon, and heat fills my neck from the action, as his words feel like a sharp blade laced with sarcasm. On the left side of his vest is the name Diesel, and on the right side is the word President.
“Easy, Pres,” Righteous barks in a tone that brokers no argument or negotiation.
“I see you’re a hardheaded mothafucka,” another man says.
Although he’s bald, some similarities between him and Righteous make me wonder if they’re related.
“Takes one to know one, bitch.” Righteous grunts.
I release Righteous’s hand and take a step forward to put an end to whatever debate is about to take place.
“First of all, I’m nobody’s shrinking violet. Nor am I remotely close to a princess. Yes, I am the mayor's daughter. However, I’m not her. My name is Jariyah. If you take a second to get to know me, I guarantee you’ll find something you like about me,” I say and extend my hand out for a handshake.
“Oh shit! You’re alright with me, Ms. Jariyah.” Another man laughs before he steps forward and moves to place his hand in mine.
According to his vest, his name is Shadow, with 'enforcer' on the right side. I move to connect hands with Shadow before my body jerks slightly. Righteous pulls me against his chest as his arm rests over my waist. “Look but don’t touch.”
“I swear you and your cousin need to learn some damn manners. How y’all parents so sanctified, and the anointing skipped y’all’s generation? I was only being hospitable.” Shadow grumbles with a smirk before he takes a step back.
I look to Righteous as my forehead wrinkles and my eyes ask the inquiry that falls from my lips.
“Who’s your cousin?”
“I am. Name’s Deacon, sweetheart,” the bald-headed man tells me before he pulls me from Righteous and hugs me. Air hits my ear when he leans down to whisper, “I have a feeling that I needed to properly welcome you to both families. Do your best to keep that nigga on his toes.”
A growl sounds behind me deep enough to cause a shiver of something other than panic to surge through my body. I don’t have time to react or register the words from Deacon before my body is in motion again, and both of Righteous’s arms are around my waist in a bear grip.
“Hug your own woman, nigga.” Righteous grunts.
A giggle escapes my mouth from the territorial dominance that rings out in Righteous’s tone.
“Let’s get back to the matter at hand. You’re welcome here as long as your presence doesn’t bring any heat to our doorstep,” Diesel says in a deadpan timbre.
“I understand,” I whisper.
“You better, because the minute shit gets hot, I’ll bounce your ass out of here even if it means fighting this nigga to do so,” another man whose vest reveals Gunz tells me.
The icy glare that peers into me causes my blood to chill as I try to mold my body with Righteous’s chest. Not only is there promise in his threat, but also indifference toward whatever outcomes result.
All I can do is nod and silently pray that Mom doesn’t find out about my connection with this group of men.