Chapter 1 #2
Her mind was made up, and no one could talk her out of leaving but if anyone decided to try and encourage her to stay simply because Saint was wealthy, she would scream.
There were plenty of women that put up with fuck shit because they were being taken care of, and Me’Yoni didn’t knock them.
She simply didn’t want anyone to knock her for the choices she made.
Saint had always possessed some character flaws but last year, he’d picked up a nasty coke habit.
Cocaine made him feel even more invincible and arrogant than he felt when he was sober.
Me’Yoni refused to keep stroking his ego and being his punching bag for the sake of Amex cards and limitless funds.
Saint could kiss her entire ass. But before she left, she was going to make sure she would never have to go crawling back.
“You okay?” Charmaine probed after Craig handed the ladies their bags. “You seem a little distracted.”
“Yes, I’m good. I think I want a new watch. The jewelry store is next.”
“You are my shero,” Charmaine sighed, and Me’Yoni forced herself to giggle. If only her sister knew the truth, she might not be so quick to envy Me’Yoni’s life.
Tristian Terror Douglas sat in his Audi smoking a blunt and staring out at the open space in front of him.
He had a meeting with his boss, Saint, and he had arrived early, so he could smoke and loosen up.
Terror’s friend, Yves, always joked that Terror was permanently uptight.
His signature expression was a frown. Never had Terror cared what anyone thought about him, but he felt it would be pretty stupid to walk around smiling for no reason.
He didn’t look menacing on purpose. It came naturally to him, and he embraced it.
He didn’t need niggas thinking he was friendly because he was far from it.
It seemed funny to some that Terror refused to drink while doing business, but he wouldn’t hesitate to smoke.
He felt people only found it odd when they didn’t smoke themselves.
Being high and drunk were two different feelings.
Weed actually helped to keep him calm whereas alcohol made him slightly paranoid and at the first sign that something didn’t feel right, his paranoia could turn into aggression.
Saint and Terror had a complicated relationship.
For the past two years, Terror had been copping coke from him to sell.
Saint quickly took a liking to the no-nonsense young man, and he began trusting Terror with certain tasks.
Had it been anyone else asking him to do them favors money or not, he would curse them out and tell them to suck his dick.
Terror sold drugs. He wasn’t a runner or a minion.
But there were certain things that Saint only trusted him with, so as long as he paid like he weighed it was all good.
He needed all the money he could get. Terror’s mother, Jennelle, refused to take money from him.
Somehow, someway though he was going to pay off her house.
He was saving the money to do so, and he would figure out how to get it done in the next year.
Jennelle had morals and values. He could dig it.
But there was no way he’d be out in the streets making thousands of dollars a day, and his mother ever struggle to pay a mortgage that was less than $1,000 a month.
Terror was a man of few words. He didn’t do a lot of talking, so he was trying to calm his nerves before talking to Saint.
Ordinarily, Terror wouldn’t run anything past anybody.
He would simply do what he wanted to do because he was grown, and who was going to stop him?
He loved his mother more than he loved himself, and he wouldn’t even stop selling drugs for her.
But the older he got, and the deeper Terror got in the game, he knew certain things were about respect.
Terror didn’t fear a soul, but that didn’t matter when it came to street politics.
You could have an army behind you and that still might not save you from meeting an untimely demise.
Longevity in the dope game meant being strategic, calculated, and trying not to burn bridges and make enemies.
It was about having enough discipline to respect the rules and adhere to a certain code of conduct.
Terror heard rocks crunching under the weight of tires, and he glanced in the rearview mirror to see a Rolls Royce approaching.
Saint was so large in the streets he didn’t even drive himself around anymore.
Terror wanted the money. That was the reason he hustled.
When the time came that he could make a million in a month, then he’d know he made it.
But he didn’t want to become so rich that driving his own car put him in a vulnerable state.
Having to constantly worry about being robbed was exhausting, but that didn’t stop Terror from trying to be the next on the block to get filthy fuckin’ rich the way Saint had managed to.
Saint’s driver emerged from the car and rounded it, so he could open Saint’s door.
The act made Terror snort because he’d never open a car door for another grown ass man unless that muhfucka didn’t have arms. The moment Saint’s designer shoe clad foot touched the ground, Terror emerged from his car.
The men faced one another, and Terror acknowledged him first by giving him a nod.
Terror was coming to reup, and that never took long.
Inside the warehouse, the men stood in the center of the room while Saint’s henchman went to get the dope. “You got any territory in Diamond Cove?” Terror inquired in a monotone voice making Saint’s head whip in his direction.
“No, why do you ask?”
Both men were 6’2. Saint had milk chocolate skin, and Terror’s was a few shades lighter.
With his honey-colored eyes, three small tattoos on his face, and the ever-present menacing glare, Terror’s name matched him perfectly.
He could be a fucking menace. While Saint on the other hand was black as night with skin and hair that shone like silk.
Terror was twenty-seven almost the same age as Saint’s son.
Saint was a hustler and had put him on, so Terror didn’t have anything bad to say about him.
He respected him, but at the end of the day, whatever he really wanted to do, he would do.
“I was thinking of branching out that way a few days out of the month. Just expand territory and get some extra bread.”
“You ever heard of a man named Augustine Louissaint?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s his territory and infringing upon it is the quickest way to start a war. He doesn’t control the entire city, but he has agreements put in place for the men that he lets hustle there.”
The comment made Terror chuckle. “Let’s them? Can’t nobody let me do a fuck ass thing.”
Saint laughed while shaking his head slightly.
“Young niggas, huh? Y’all are determined to learn stuff the hard way.
Starting a war is the fastest way to not get money.
And to keep it a hunnid with you, I want my family and the Louissaint’s family to merge.
We can do that if I can get him to agree to allow Ja’Sean marry his daughter.
If that works out, and I can work something out with him, I can have access to Diamond Cove without having to beef to get it.
Merging our families would be bigger than dope.
Augustine is rich off drugs, but he’s filthy rich off drugs and legal hustles. ”
It was Terror’s turn to chuckle. So, Saint had the same idea as him, he was just going to kiss Augustine’s ass to make it happen.
Maybe forming an alliance was smarter than going to war with one another.
If the alliance happened, Saint would more than likely get the okay to move dope through Diamond Cove.
If Terror said fuck it and decided to go get in on the action too, he’d be stepping on the toes of not one but two crime bosses.
Most days, Terror didn’t give a damn about pissing people off.
In fact, there were times that ruffling feathers made his adrenaline pump.
“When I go sit down with him, I want you to come with me.” Saint shocked Terror with his words.
If he asked Saint why, there was a good chance the man wouldn’t tell him the truth. Therefore, he tried to figure out the answer on his own. Saint could practically see the wheels turning in Terror’s head, and he chortled.
“I like you. You don’t play games. You’re a stand-up guy. I don’t just want you to be someone that buys coke from me. I want you on my team.”
Terror simply nodded as Saint’s worker entered the space carrying a duffel bag containing the drugs that Terror was there to purchase.
He didn’t work for a damn soul, but he’d work with Saint if that meant more money for him.
Saint trusted Terror enough not to run the money he gave him through the money counting machine, but they were two different people.
Terror wasn’t leaving without opening the bag to make sure every brick was accounted for.
Once he was satisfied, he zipped the bag closed and was on his way.
Saint stared after Terror with a shake of his head.
The young man was too much like him. In fact, Terror was more like Saint than his own son.
He’d never admit it out loud to anyone, but Saint was almost certain that Terror was a little colder than him.
A bit more unpredictable. A straight wild card.
All those things considered, Saint knew Terror was the kind of man that he’d either have to keep on his team or kill. There was no in between.