Chapter 11
Ileaned back against the booth, finally letting my eyes drift away from the table and the fake bitches surrounding me. I still hadn’t gotten past Giani’s little joke, but I chose to let it go for now. My attention was better focused elsewhere.
I was sober, alert, and taking everybody in when I finally spotted Booda.
He was on the opposite side of the club, tucked inside a dark corner booth with his hoodie pulled low enough to shadow most of his face.
One arm stretched across the back of the booth while his legs spread wide beneath the table.
His posture was relaxed in a way that would’ve looked harmless on anybody else, but on Booda, it made him look more dangerous.
That was one of the things I loved most about him.
He never had to act tough for people to feel it.
Whenever he walked into rooms, he carried the kind of energy that made grown men move carefully around him.
The woman grinding in front of his booth was a different story. I liked nothing about her.
She was slowly rolling her hips to the beat, head thrown back, hands sliding down her own body, putting on a show just for him. When her ass bounced dangerously close to Booda’s lap, he just sat there, eyes forward, like none of it was happening.
But I knew better than that.
He didn’t miss a thing, least of all a beautiful woman.
I frowned, not only at what I saw, but at myself for feeling anything.
Booda and I weren’t together. Hell, we barely even knew what we were anymore.
We hadn’t kissed. Hadn’t had sex. Hadn’t even talked about fixing whatever had broken between us.
For all I knew, we might never get back to that place again.
Still…
Watching another woman throw herself at him made irritation crawl all over me.
“Oh, hell nah,” I spat, leaning forward in my seat to get a better look.
“What?” Giani asked, distracted by her phone.
“That bitch.”
Giani looked up immediately. “Who?”
I didn’t answer.
My eyes stayed locked across the club, irritation steadily mounting the longer I watched the two. Booda didn’t seem to be enjoying her, but he hadn’t made her move around either.
I didn’t like that.
The girl was bending over, running her hands through her hair, and looking back at him every few seconds. She was doing entirely too much.
And Booda was just sitting there letting it happen.
“You good?” Giani asked, watching me closely.
“No, but I will be,” I replied, and before she could stop me, I slid out of the booth.
“Koko,” Giani called after me, laughing as though I were a comedian. “Girl, where the hell is your crazy ass going?”
I ignored her completely and pushed through the crowd. The closer I got to Booda’s section, the more irritated I became.
The woman dropped it low right in front of him just as I reached the booth, and that was enough for me.
“Bitch, move,” I snapped as I grabbed the woman by the hair and shoved her sideways.
She yelped, arms swinging behind her, before she caught herself on the edge of the booth.
“That was uncalled for,” Booda said with a low laugh as he rose from the booth. “You can’t just go around snatching bitches up.”
I folded my arms immediately. “Watch me.”
His grin widened beneath the shadow of his hood. “She wasn’t bothering me.”
“She was bothering me,” I shot back.
Booda looked amused by the entire situation, which only made me more irritated.
“We not even together,” I continued, more to myself than him. “So I don’t even know why I care.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you, crazy bitch?” the woman frowned, looking me up and down.
I heard her but chose to ignore her because Booda was still my main focus.
“Didn’t you just say we wasn’t together? That’s the reason why you should care,” he said to me, paying the woman no mind as well.
“Well, I do, and I shouldn’t have to remind you of how I give it up. That disrespectful shit will never fly with me.”
Booda smirked, his dimple sinking deep into his cheek as he ran his tongue across his bottom lip. “You jealous?”
“Yes,” I snapped without shame.
Booda chuckled, and his chest puffed out a little more.
“Bitch, are you serious right now?” the chick butted in again.
I turned to face her fully, taking in the glitter on her skin and the cheap extensions twisted up in her hair. She was pretty enough, I guess, if you liked that desperate look.
“Dead serious,” I said flatly.
Booda’s hand found the small of my back, and even that light touch sent heat coursing through me. He guided me slightly away from the girl, his body angling so he was between us without making it obvious that was what he was doing.
“Just be glad I’m giving you a chance to move around. Shit can get ugly, and you’re too cute for that. If you wanna stay that way, you’ll go about your business,” I warned, because not even Booda could keep me off her head if she didn’t leave.
The girl stared at me for another second, and I watched the emotions move across her face one by one. First confusion, then irritation, then something more cautious once she realized I wasn’t joking.
“Man, whatever,” she said finally, smoothing her hair back into place before throwing one last irritated look my way and walking off toward the bar.
I watched her leave before turning toward Booda. He was still grinning.
“What?” I snapped.
“You crazy.”
“And you enjoyed every second of that shit,” I shot back immediately.
His grin widened instead of fading. “I ain’t say all that.”
“You ain’t have to.”
Booda leaned back against the booth, his eyes slowly crawling over me.
“You look good,” he praised, and I could tell he meant every word.
The irritation inside me softened a little.
“Thank you,” I replied, blushing.
“Aight, don’t start acting shy now,” Booda teased, amusement lingering in his voice.
“I’m not shy.” I waved him off.
“You're jealous, territorial, and mean as hell,” he said. “But you still blush when I compliment you.”
I rolled my eyes with a grin and folded my arms. “Whatever.”
“You missed me.”
Right when I was about to answer, movement near the dance floor caught my attention.
A man was weaving through the crowd toward the exit with a woman hanging onto his arm. Someone called his name, and he looked back.
The second I saw his face, another memory slammed into me so hard it nearly knocked the breath out of me. Tall. Slim. Caramel-colored. Tatted. Gold chain. Gold teeth.
The noise around me dulled.
Dark street. Gunfire. Somebody yelling.
That same man was looking over his shoulder before jumping into a car.
“What is it?” Booda asked, standing to move beside me.
“That’s him,” I replied, my tone urgent, my eyes locked on the man as he started moving back through the crowd. “That’s one of the men I remembered the other day.”
Booda followed my stare, and the moment he spotted the man, his demeanor shifted entirely. “Let’s go,” he said, moving with me right on his heels.
He stayed just ahead, guiding me through the throng of bodies packed tightly across the lower level.
“Watch the target,” he urged as we weaved toward the exit. “We can’t lose him.”
“I got this,” I replied, determination fueling my words.
When we burst through the front door, the cool night air hit my skin, shaking off the club’s heat. Neon lights flickered above, illuminating the chaotic parking lot, where traffic crawled slowly beneath the pounding music spilling from open car windows.
“There,” Booda said, nodding toward the far side of the lot.
The man was making his way to a black Charger as the woman struggled to keep pace beside him in her heels.
A few moments later, the female climbed into the passenger seat. Then, the man glanced at his phone one last time before slipping behind the wheel.
The engine roared to life, and the brake lights flashed red, signaling their imminent departure.
“Get to the car,” Booda ordered.
I darted across the asphalt, my pulse quickening as I unlocked my door and slid into the driver’s seat just as the Charger began to pull away.
Booda jumped in beside me, and the instant the Charger turned onto the street, I followed.
I stayed three cars behind him at first, then four once we hit the freeway.
The city lights smeared across my windshield in streaks of gold and white while I kept my hands steady on the wheel.
His taillights stayed in sight the entire time, glowing red against the dark like two cigarette tips burning through the night.
He never sped up enough to make me nervous, and that should’ve warned me.
“Slow down,” Booda said from the passenger seat, one arm resting near the window while his eyes stayed on the car ahead of us. “You too focused on not losing him.”
“I got him.”
“Real street niggas pay attention even when you think they not,” Booda warned, and I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.
The Challenger ahead of me switched lanes without signaling, and I followed a few seconds later, careful not to move too fast. The streets were thinning out now. Less traffic. Fewer witnesses. Just long stretches of road and scattered headlights cutting through the dark.
Then his brake lights flashed, and my stomach dropped. He didn’t stop, but I could see his eyes through the rearview mirror, watching me hit the brakes right after.
“That nigga see you,” Booda said calmly, and a second later, the Challenger shot forward.
“Fuck.”
The engine roared as he punched the gas, weaving through traffic. I slammed my foot down too, my tires whining as I pushed after him.
The city blurred. Streetlights whipped past in flashes. Cars swerved out of the way. A truck lay on its horn as the Challenger cut across three lanes without warning. My pulse hammered so hard it started climbing into my throat.
“He's running,” I whispered.
“'Cause he knows exactly who’s behind him.”
The Challenger flew through a red light, and I followed. A car coming from the opposite direction barely missed me, its headlights exploding across my windshield before disappearing behind me.