Chapter Nine
ONE WEEK LATER.
Rain hammered the Hills relentlessly, turning the streets glossy beneath the glow of scattered streetlights. Most people with good sense were asleep at three o’clock in the morning.
Danger wasn’t most people.
His matte sage-green Hayabusa ripped through Hills Borough, its sleek body glistening beneath the rain.
He hit back street after back street before finally pulling into Caresha’s apartment complex.
Water streamed from the bike as he killed the engine and climbed off.
After removing his gloves, he jogged through the downpour and up the stairs, knocking twice before pulling off his helmet and dragging a hand across his soaked face.
A few seconds later, the door opened. Caresha stood there in a gown, and a big bonnet damn near swallowing her head. Her hair was wrapped and protected, but the bonnet didn’t matter much to Danger. He blinked once, then twice.
“Damn,” he said.
Caresha grinned, rolling her eyes. “What?”
“You look good as fuck.”
She laughed. “How? You say anything. I got on a damn bonnet.”
“What the fuck that mean? You still look good.”
His gaze traveled from the hot pink bonnet on her head down to the heart-print Moomoo gown she wore, showing off her pretty thighs.
“Especially in that,” he added.
Now Danger understood what the fuck his pops had been preaching about all those years.
Ahmad Sr. swore Kerri looked her best in those little house gowns; they kept him spoiling her.
Looking at Caresha standing there, Danger couldn’t even argue with the man.
In his head, he was trying to remember how much paper he had on him.
“Dude, get in here.”
Danger grinned and stepped inside. The second the door shut behind him, his hands found her waist as he smothered her face with kisses. Caresha burst out laughing as he pulled her closer.
“D.”
“What?”
“You all over me, and you wet.”
“And?”
That only made her smile wider. Somewhere along the way, their situationship had crossed into possessive territory.
He touched her whenever he felt like it, pulled her into his lap at will, and called or texted her phone randomly throughout the day, knowing she was at work.
He didn’t give a fuck. He constantly popped up with food she never asked for and found any excuse to be around her.
And she had allowed it every single time… because she loved it.
“And…your ass gon’ get me wet. No thank you. Back the hell up.” She pushed at his chest. “Stay your ass right there and take that shit off before you come on my carpet.”
Danger looked down at the small tiled entryway by the front door before glancing toward the living room.
“I know you ain’t trippin’ on me ‘bout this old-ass carpet. That shit needs some water anyway.”
Caresha folded her arms, mugging him while suppressing a laugh.
“Don’t you start your shit before I put your ass back out in that rain. Might be old, but my shit ain’t dirty, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Danger looked around once more and had to agree.
She was clean; he noticed that the very first time he stepped foot in her apartment.
The air carried the scent of Island Mist carpet freshener, and faint vacuum lines stretched across the living room floor.
Still, the carpet had seen better days. The beige color had long since faded, giving it a worn look no amount of cleaning could fix.
Danger shook his head, chuckling at her smart mouth.
There she was, back to shit-talking him.
The last couple of times he had left her house, she had been curled up against him in bed looking vulnerable.
Soft. Quiet. But now she was back giving orders and fussing at him.
He honestly didn’t know which version of her he liked more: the vulnerable side that was slowly breaking the ice around his heart or the bossy, shit-talking side that kept him entertained.
Both had him thinking about her way more than he cared to admit out loud.
Danger finally reached down and removed his vest. He hung it on the hook near the door before coming out of his shirt.
As he tossed it to the floor, his eyes landed on the dining room table.
A comb, clips, natural oils, and loc gel sat neatly arranged for his hair.
Something about seeing it all laid out made something warm settle in his chest. Caresha had been waiting up for him…
at three in the morning…after the long day she had already put in at work.
Danger unbuckled his jeans, and Caresha’s eyes drifted over him before she quickly looked away.
Of course, she had seen him in nothing but his boxers before, but this felt different.
They were up and moving around. The lights were on, and she could see every detail of his massive outline.
Even when soft, he was hung like a horse.
A smirk tugged at Danger’s mouth as he watched her reaction. “You acting like you ain’t never seen my dick print before.”
“Shut up. Not like this.” She shot back, bending down to grab the wet clothes off the floor. “Give me these.”
His eyebrow lifted. “For what?”
“I’ma wash and dry them for you.”
Danger nodded, handing over his socks. “Appreciate you.”
That right there was one of his favorite things about her.
No matter how much attitude she threw his way, Caresha always found a way to be sweet.
Whether it was sitting beside him in silence while he grieved, rubbing his back after a long day, or doing something as simple as washing his clothes, she showed that she cared.
Like him, she had put in effort during the short time they had known each other.
Caresha disappeared down the hallway toward the laundry room. A few minutes later she returned and stopped in her tracks. She noticed that all the hair products had been moved from the dining room table to the coffee table.
Danger sat comfortably on the floor with his back against the couch and his long, tattooed legs stretched out in front of him.
He had stolen one of her big couch pillows and wedged it underneath himself for comfort.
Caresha smacked her lips. The few times he’d visited, he acted as if he paid rent in her apartment, doing whatever the fuck he wanted.
“Why are you on the floor and, most importantly, why your ass sitting on my damn pillow?” She asked, fussing all at the same time.
Danger looked up and pointed behind him. “Cause I want you to do it right here. But I don’t want my ass hurting sitting on this hard-ass floor.”
Caresha stared at him, then the couch, then back at him again.
“Come on, Ree. I ain’t tryna sit in no chair like I’m just some customer. I wanna sit here. Be close to you. Feel your body next to mine.”
Caresha’s chest tightened as she fought another smile.
He thought she was being shy, but the truth was, she was just standing there admiring him.
Without another word, she walked over and sat down behind him.
As she reached for the remote and pulled up the Pandora app, Danger leaned his head back and rubbed her legs.
The move felt so natural it startled both of them. Neither acknowledged it, though.
Rain continued pounding against the windows while Summer Walker’s Session 33 drifted softly through the apartment. Caresha unraveled his bun and began separating his locs. Looking down, she noticed his eyes were closed already.
“You tired?” She asked, making conversation.
A slow chuckle left Danger. “Hell yeah.”
“Me too.”
“I know. My fault for coming through so late. I’ma make it up to you.” He pressed a kiss against her thigh.
“It’s all good. I took off for the next two days, so after the reception, I’ma stay in and catch up on my rest.”
“Good. You need it. Yo’ ass stay working.”
“Look who's talking. You stay in them streets. When’s the last time you got some real sleep?”
“Last time I was with you.”
A smile immediately touched her lips; that was two days ago. “You only sleep good when you with me?”
Danger opened one eye and looked up at her.
“Yeah. So can I join you?”
As she parted one of his locs and applied oil to his scalp, Caresha found herself blushing again.
“Of course. Whenever you free, just come by. No need to call or text.”
“Damn. I got it like that now? Bet.”
She laughed; he spoke as if he wasn’t already doing that.
A few songs later, Soon as I Get Home by Faith Evan’s came through the speakers. Without thinking, Caresha started singing along while twisting his roots.
“You can sing too?”
“Mm, a little.” She brushed it off like it was nothing.
Caresha wasn’t no Whitney Houston. But she could certainly hold a tune better than most. Growing up, Nivéa’s mother had made her join the church choir after hearing her sing around the house. She never pursued it seriously, but every now and then it still came out naturally.
“You sound good, ma.”
“Thank you.”
Caresha continued working through his hair.
The rain eventually eased into a light drizzle while song after song filled the apartment.
Somewhere along the way, Danger drifted off completely to her singing to Monica.
His breathing deepened. His shoulders relaxed.
The constant tension he carried from Lil Mo’s death seemed to disappear beneath her hands.
For a while, Caresha simply admired him. Most people saw the Vice President of the Knights. The enforcer. The biker. The man people crossed the street to avoid. They saw the muscles, the tattoos, the reputation, and the violence attached to his name.
She saw this version. The exhausted man asleep against her.
The man who secretly liked affection. The man who wanted to be close to her any chance he got.
The man who trusted her enough to let his guard down.
The other day, Danger had nearly cried in front of her during an episode of missing his best friend.
That’s how comfortable he’d become around her.