Chapter 9
Kyst was finally back in the city that he took an instant liking to, Chicago.
He sat in the driver seat of the same AMG Benz he had before but in a midnight blue.
Love set him up with everything he thought he would need for his temporary stay in the Windy City.
He was there on business, and he knew what was expected of him, take over the city in silence.
Expansion, money moves, and connections were on his to-do list, but Nyla was on his brain, heavy.
He missed her smile, her slick mouth, and most of all, her pussy.
Chicago pussy hit different from any pussy he had back home and Kyst had his share of Harlem pussy.
It irritated him how much he thought about Nyla, it was like Chicago carried traces of her energy everywhere he looked.
He followed the GPS on the screen and weaved through the streets with his music blasting until Moon’s call interrupted his vibe.
“Yo.”
“You landed?”
“Yeah, about forty-minutes ago. You in Maryland?”
“Yeah. What kind of car Love set you up in?”
“AMG. Why?”
“Mannnn, this nigga got me in a black Cadillac truck like I’m a fuckin’ deacon.”
Kyst started laughing, but Moon was pissed.
“That’s because he know you and that flashy shit don’t mix. Soon as you get some attention, you ain’t gon’ handle business.”
“I might as well trade my Glock in for a bible, fuckin’ woodgrain dash. I hate Love for this shit.”
“Nigga, just handle business so we can get back to Harlem.”
“Shut the fuck up, you ain’t in no rush to leave Chicago.”
Moon was very much correct, Kyst was looking forward to spending the summer there with his lady.
“Bye, Deacon Lucas.”
Kyst ended the call before Moon could get a word out.
Ten minutes later he was pulling up to one of the richest parts of the city and in from of him rested luxury.
The house sat tucked behind trees with lights that lit up the perimeter.
Love believed comfort mattered when conducting business, especially when it came to his family.
“Damn,” Kyst said to no one as he pulled in the driveway.
The house looked even crazier when he entered, black marble floors, floating staircase, and black and gold interior. A vice lord had to be the owner of the Airbnb. Kyst walked further inside, and every room he looked at, he imagined Nyla in, the nigga had it bad.
A note sat on the kitchen island, “Business first. Don’t get distracted, I have no desire to visit Chicago, but I will. Love you, -Love.”
Kyst laughed quietly at his brother’s dry threat.
He walked around the fully stocked kitchen, Chicago stretched endless beneath him now, he was there.
He pulled his phone out and went straight to her contact, he stared at the screen for a long second then locked the screen, business first. After speaking to Love and getting the rundown of the next move, Kyst was free and ready to hit the town, of course Banko wasn’t far behind; an hour after Kyst’s arrival to the house, Banko was pulling into the driveway.
Banko was like the fourth Lucas brother that Momma Lu never had, and they treated him as such.
“About time, nigga,” Kyst dapped Banko up with a smile.
“This muthafucka nice, Love don’t miss. I know I got a room.”
“Take yo pick, it’s plenty, but get yo best drip, we stepping out.”
“Business?”
Kyst rubbed his hands together with a smirk, “Nah, we outside.”
“Treesh central,” Banko used Harlem slang to describe loose women.
“You ain’t fuckin’ with Jada?”
“She cool, a lil too slow for my speed though, I like hoes, she’s a good girl. I don’t wanna hurt her.”
Kyst nodded and left it at that, he headed to his room and rolled his suitcase in the walk-in closet, that was the only thing Love didn’t provide so a shopping day was in his near future.
When he said future, he meant tomorrow. In the meantime he showered and threw on a black, fitted Amiri tee and a pair of black stacked jeans that fell perfectly over his limited-edition sneakers.
He went with his gold jewelry, it looked good with black.
After placing his Rolex on his wrist, he grabbed his keys, phone, and wallet and was ready to go.
His braids were fuzzy but that was neither here nor there, it was part of his drip.
His look was simple but cost more than most people’s rent.
Banko walked out shaking his head, “You can take a nigga out of Harlem but never Harlem out of a nigga.”
“It’s in me, not on me.”
“You starting to sound like these niggas down here.”
“Cap.”
The blue Benz roared through the city, drawing attention from anyone it passed. Chicago noticed luxury fast, especially when a nigga like Kyst was behind the wheel. By the time they pulled up to one of the city’s hottest clubs, the lines were wrapped around the corner.
“I’m not standing in that line, my nigga.”
Kyst gave Banko a stale look, “I look like a nigga that stand in lines? When money talk, niggas listen.”
Valet came right over to park his car as every set of eyes present fell on him like he was a star, he wasn’t, but he was a Lucas and pretty fuckin’ close.
Like clockwork, they avoided the lines and were inside the club in a matter of minutes.
Inside, the club was lit, dim lights, females of every caliber looked like they were waiting to be chosen for the night.
VIP sat above the crowd and that was exactly where Kyst and Banko headed, their other niggas had yet to touch down in the city, so it was just the duo for the night.
Kyst barely made it five feet before eyes locked in on him, he stood out because power sat on him naturally.
Once inside their section, Banko ordered bottles and allowed the bitches inside.
Kyst sat on the couch texting Nyla like there wasn’t pussy surrounding him, but he didn’t want them.
It wasn’t until a familiar voice cut through the music.
“Look at lil Kyst, all grown up.” He looked up and locked eyes with Londa, a smile crept upon his face as he stood to his feet.
He hadn’t seen Londa in years, she was up there with Love so she was always one of the pretty, older bitches in the hood.
Still to that day, Londa was a beautiful woman, cutthroat, but beautiful.
He heard she was into the business of setting niggas up and that was why she had to shake the city.
That was neither here nor there for him and wasn’t his business.
“Ms. Londa, nice to see you,” he leaned in and hugged her with space.
“Nigga, don’t call me no ‘Miss’, I ain’t that damn old,” she laughed.
He sized her up in the short, leather dress she was wearing and damn sure wasn’t nothing old about her.
Kyst laughed and nodded, “How long it’s been?”
“Years. How’s everyone back home? What’s new?” she asked, running her fingers through her long hair.
“Everything is everything, same shit.”
“Different day,” she finished his sentence for him as he smiled and nodded.
Kyst always had a charm about himself, a dangerous charm, the kind that made women feel singled out in crowded rooms.
“You know ya girl Ty is here.”
That shit instantly changed Kyst’s mood, “Here where?”
“As in here in Chicago, she’s staying at my house for the summer. She’s not here because I just slid through to handle some business. I thought she would’ve told you.”
“I don’t fuck with Ty,” he made that shit very clear in hopes that she would relay the message to her cousin.
“Oh shit. You might want to tell her that because she thinks different, very different. She gon’ be tight if she bump shoulders with you out here.”
He hadn’t returned a text or call to the bitch since her and Nyla fought; when he said he was done, he meant that shit. They small talked for a few more minutes before Londa went her way.
“I don’t trust that bitch as far as I can see her,” Banko walked over and said as Kyst fell back on the couch.
He couldn’t believe that bitch Ty had followed him to Chicago.
“Ty in Chicago,” he said as Banko’s eyes grew wide.
“What?”
“Yeah, you know her and Londa are cousins.”
“Man, you better watch that shit and give Nyla a heads up. You know them bitches don’t play fair.”
Banko was right, he had to tell Nyla what was up just in case.