Prologue #2
I should’ve gotten up. I should’ve called it a night. Instead, I reached for another drink from the waitress and watched the dealer pull away the last of my chips.
“Shiddd.”
The curse slipped out before I could stop it.
Across the table, a few men tried and failed to hide their satisfaction. Nothing made people happier than watching somebody fall apart.
Muthafuckin’ fat tailor-made fucks!
I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my hand through my red curls.
I wasn’t broke. Hell, far from it, actually.
The problem was that all my money wasn’t sitting in some neat little bank account waiting to be transferred. Most of my cash was tied up elsewhere or buried in different locations, and at the moment, I didn’t have enough on me to keep feeding the beast sitting in front of me.
“Rough night?”
I looked up to find one of the casino managers standing beside my chair.
“You could say that.”
His eyes drifted toward the empty space where my chips used to be.
“If you’d like to continue playing, we can extend you a marker.”
Normally, I would’ve laughed in his face and walked away because why in the fuck would Global Jamerson need a damn loan?
Normally. But there wasn’t nothing normal about tonight. I was grieving, tipsy, and ready to do just about anything to keep my mind from spiraling.
“How much?” I asked.
The manager smiled.
And that’s when everything started going wrong. Before I knew it, I was fucking $175,000 in the hole.
What the hell did I do?
Just when I was about to call it. A big ass undertaker-looking nigga darkened the doorway of the back room.
“Ms. Jamerson, your presence has been requested.”
“And just who the fuck are you?” I leaned back in my seat and crossed my arms. “...And by who?”
But I was met with silence.
Judging by the faces in the room, I was sure I was looking like a big, black, and loud ghetto bitch, but I gave two fucks because what the hell was going on?
“Bitch, did you call him?” I said, pointing an accusatory finger at the dealer. “I can pay this raggedy ass one-seventy-five. This ain’t shit to me, love.” I had to let this little thin patty know because she had me fucked up.
“Ma’am, I assure you I did not make the call. But if you look in each corner of this room and on the button here on my shirt,” she said, pointing to the small button that I knew was a camera just from looking at it. “It’s all recording.”
That meant someone was watching at all times. A major reason we never took down a casino. Too busy, too many people, way too many cameras, and it’s hard to gain control of the money room.
“Ms. Jamerson, if you could please follow me. Mr. Monroe would like a moment of your time.” My eyes widened at just the mention of the owner’s name.
Yeah, I was playing at the high-stakes table, but what did he want with me?
I was sure many people came in here and did more damage than this small ass one-seventy-five.
“Did he say what he would like to speak with me about?” I asked this buff ass nigga.
“No, ma’am. My job is not to ask questions.”
Any other time, I would have cussed his ass out, but I understood because I lived the life. Deciding I would stop making it hard for this man to do his job, I pushed my chair back, opened my clutch, grabbed what I was looking for, and coated my heart-shaped lips with my signature fire-red lipstick.
I never left a shade behind.
Once I felt like I was ready, I stood to my full height of 5’7.
Just to toy with the men that were still seated, I adjusted my bra under my crop top, exposing the top part of my triple D’s, pulled up my black leather leggings, which caused my booty to jiggle, and ran my hand through my short curls.
My action had the men stuck, just like I knew it would. I smirked.
“Good day, fellas.”
I could hear them loudly whispering when my backside was fully shown to them as I tried my best to strut out of here, slightly tipsy, I guess you could say. However, falling in these red bottoms wasn’t an option, so I straightened my spine and followed Hercules.
The closer we got to the elevator, the more I wondered what the hell Mr. Monroe wanted with me. Any other time, I would’ve asked a hundred questions by now.
Tonight?
I couldn’t find the energy.
If Hulk’s big ass had told me we were headed to the roof so he could throw me over, I probably would’ve shrugged and told him to make sure I landed on my good side because I wanted an open casket.
That was the kind of week I was having since the robbery. Rose was dead, and our once-strong, as concrete as we like to say, was fractured. If you were on the outside looking in, you probably could visually see the crack going down the middle of our foundation.
I was so emotionally exhausted I couldn't tell if I was angry, sad, numb, or all three.
Before I knew it, the elevator came to a stop, and the door to the penthouse slowly opened, and there, standing looking better than the sign on the billboard, was Ritz muthafuckin’ Monroe in all his fine ass glory.
The nigga had to be every bit of 6’5, which towered over me, and the checker red suit that was tailored to his thick frame looked like it wrapped around every muscle he had on his chocolate body.
And let’s not forget the beard. I’m sure it could tickle the hell outta my swollen bud.
Shit, I take everything I just said back. A bitch had to live to see another day.
Damn, this nigga fine-fine!
The mystery was still on vacation about what this man wanted with me.
Hell, it wasn’t like I didn’t grace the casino with my presence when I was in town.
I even drove down here sometimes when I just wanted to get away.
I have seen him, but this was my first time seeing him up close and personal, and good God.
This man was tall, stacked with muscles, and I just knew he could bench press all two hundred and forty pounds of this ass.
Dammit, Global, get yo’ soaker under control!
“How you doing, Ms. Global Jamerson?”
Wheww, that voice!
That baritone. It was deep and smooth like velvet. Standing before him was messing up my train of thought. Just when I was about to ask him how he knew my name, it dawned on me that everyone had to scan their I.D. before entering the casino.
Thanks to Rebel, it was a good thing that the address was a dummy, but the name was real.
Straightening my stance, I asked, “And how can I help you today, Mr. Monroe?”
A small smirk was quickly sported on the side of his mouth before he said. “You can call me Ritz, G-baby.”
“Hmm. Pet names already?” I flirted.
“It fits.”
This man was smooth…too smooth, and I would definitely add a little cocky. I was sure he had the dick to match the behavior, but he had the right one. I lived to be free.
Global, get your shit together!
“You can leave, Yogi.”
Damn, I was really off my game because I had forgotten about that big ass nigga. This man had my mind tied up with lust.
And they had the nerve to nickname that big nigga, Yogi! I definitely picked everything but that!
“Come in, and have a seat.”
“Listen, if this is about the money owed, I will have it to you come daylight. Today has been a lot. I didn’t plan to spend that much, honestly,” I stated.
“Would you like to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Well, if you want to, I’m on yo’ time.”
“Is that right?”
“Mhmm Huh.”
Ritz swaggered over, unbuttoned the middle part of his jacket, and took a seat on the modern-style U-shaped red chair.
It reminded me of something those celebrities would have in their home.
The penthouse was definitely screaming Chris Brown style, but without all the wild colors.
The floor-to-ceiling glass window that overlooked the rest of the city was beautiful.
As I switched my overgrown round ass to the couch, the scent of his cologne was straight-up panty-dropping.
I knew taste, and that fragrance was definitely expensive.
“Don’t put your back out, shawty.”
“If it was gon’ break, it would have started to crack at the age of fifteen when I started to spread,” I sassed.
I looked over my shoulder, and his eyes were deadpan on my ass. This ass had the tendency to get a nigga hemmed up, and if you were watching it at the wrong time, trust me, I know. It used to happen in the traps in Golden Shores.
“Ritz, would you like to put me out of my misery and let me know why I’m here?” I asked just as I was taking my seat.
“You had a rough night.”
I shot a glare at him.
“You called me up here to rub it in?”
“No, absolutely not.”
He widened his stance in the chair and licked his thick chocolate lips.
This nigga was pressure.
“You owe my casino one hundred and seventy-five thousand.”
And there it was. This man probably thought I didn’t have that little ass shit.
“I get the concern, but calling me up here for some shit one of my bags cost was a waste of your time and mine. Look at the heels. Seven. Look at the jewelry, 60. And this is my keep-it-simple day. It’s nothing to me.”
“But yet you sit in my casino losing what you had and needing a loan.”
I was about to cuss this muthafucka out, and if he decided to drop my ass off the balcony, oh well, because he had me fucked up.
“First of all, the marker came to me; I didn’t ask for the shit. Secondly, come daylight, that shit will be back in yo’ hand. As a matter of fact, no wire, I will count that shit out in front of you.”
I was getting worked up and ready to take my chances up here.
“You feisty…I like that shit.”
His ass was just relaxing while looking at me, and I was fuming.
“Whateva.”
“Calm down. I can see your heart rate has picked up, you have shifted in your seat a total of three times, and your right leg has started to bounce.”
“Very observant, huh?”
“I have to be. But let me just say that I didn’t bring you up here for that. I know you can pay. I have watched you command attention in here a time or two. And G-baby, I know how much everything on you running fa. Even the two-carat ruby-red rare-cut diamond studs in your ear, love.”
Damn, maybe too observant!