Chapter 3
“I get the feeling Luna is going to have a story to tell me in the morning.” Minx shook her head and dropped her phone on the sofa.
She and Rose were in the living room of her parents’ house.
They didn’t have a mansion or no shit like that.
It was a modest, old Victorian–style house that they had spent most of her life renovating.
Their porch was a large wraparound on each level, and it was four stories.
There was a full basement that her father kept organized with his gun collection.
It was his man cave, but there was a separate room for family entertainment.
An attic graced the top floor, and it was her mother’s workspace for her candle making.
She did it for hobby when Minx was a kid, but as she got older, the small business turned into more than that.
She also ran a warehouse with high-end fashion for what she called hood dollars.
Mila had no problem stealing from the rich to make sure her people could afford the labels.
The big-screen TV in the darkened living room gave Minx and Rose just enough light.
It was late when they walked in, and the house was eerily quiet.
Minx kicked off her shoes and left them at the door.
Rose was channel surfing for the last fifteen minutes, and Minx had already spotted two shows she wanted to indulge in while he was clicking away on the smart TV remote.
Rose kicked off his shoes and pulled his button-down off, leaving him in his jeans, socks, and a wife beater.
Minx watched him click away while sexily rubbing the top of his head. Feet up on the table, he was so chill, like he was at home. The Ward house had always been that for him though. He took his pistol out and left it sitting on the table too, like another accessory such as his wallet or something.
“Shit, Finn too,” he muttered, settling on ESPN.
They were highlighting some classic shit and Rose yawned a bit before he brought his eyes up to Minx.
She was still in her party dress, legs crossed and stretched in front of her with her bare feet on the table.
There was a box of Crunch ’n Munch between her thighs.
Ever since she was a kid that was her go to snack.
She would go to war over that box. Rose went to put his hand inside, and Minx snatched it out of reach.
His hand slipped onto her thigh, and neither of them thought anything of it.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her expression serious as hell.
He smacked his lips. “For real, Minx? You still selfish as fuck. I just wanted a little bit.”
“Yeah, your little bit turns into the whole damn box. You ain’t slick, nigga.” She laughed and kept the box out of his reach.
“I’ll buy you a whole fucking case then.” He sat up, stretching his arm and his strong upper torso draped over her.
“Rose, no!” Minx whined, but he had her pinned down underneath him, and his fingers grabbed the box from her hand.
“Gimme that shit,” he grumbled, sitting up between her legs.
It was something they always did, play fight, ever since they were kids.
This wasn’t the same. Rose was a grown ass man with a pulse, and Minx laying beneath him all pretty in that little ass dress clinging to her thighs made his third leg appear.
On his knees staring her down, Minx heard someone clear their throat.
She imagined how it looked, her on her back on the sofa with Rose between her legs lingering over her.
It was seemingly innocent, except neither of them were kids anymore. Minx’s heart leapt to her throat when she saw her father standing in the living room doorway with his Desert Eagle in hand. A very serious and thoughtful man, his dark licorice-colored eyes raked over the both of them.
“Hey, Daddy.” Minx spoke up, sitting up and shoving Rose back.
He fell into the couch and sat down beside her with her snacks in his hand.
“’Sup, Max.” Rose bobbed his head in greeting, stuffing his face with caramel- and peanut-covered popcorn.
“It’s late,” Max’s bass-filled voice emphasized.
“Yeah. Did we wake you?” Minx asked, kind of frowning at him and glancing at the gun in his hand.
“Minx, we talked about all this coming in late shit.” Max chastised his daughter.
“Yo’ ass is not invincible out here. I don’t care if Gannon does own the fucking club.
And you, you just blow back into fucking town and don’t tell me shit?
” Max stepped into the living room, and Rose sat up on the sofa.
“Nah, it ain’t like that, Max. You know me though. I’m a rolling stone,” Rose kidded, shrugging and continuing to smash Minx’s snacks while looking inside to see how much was left.
She already killed half of it. Reaching around him, she snatched it out of his hand.
“Give me my shit.” She rushed to her feet. “I’m gonna go shower and change. I’ll be back,” she warned, sauntering out of the room and leaving her father with her best friend.
Rose stared after her for a moment, and Max perched himself on the arm of a nearby chair, facing him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, never one to beat around the bush.
Gun still in his hand, he crossed his arms near his legs.
In his black silk pajamas and matching robe, Max was even sharp in his sleep.
Only his gold link chain hung from his neck with a diamond-encrusted ankh across his chest. Narrowing his eyes at Rose, he observed him.
Rose was like another kid to him more than any other younging he’d ever taken under his wing.
Before Mille was born, he didn’t think he would get that opportunity, so he filled Rose with all the game he had.
Like a sponge, he absorbed that shit and applied it.
Max was never been prouder to have a thorough ass nigga like him on his team.
“Damn, Max, a nigga been gone a year taking care of shit, and this how I get greeted?” Rose popped a few pieces of popcorn he had left in his hand in his mouth and shook his head at his mentor.
“How was Miami?” Max lifted himself from the chair to make a drink at his mini bar in the corner.
“Miami was cool. Beautiful city. Lots of bad bitches,” Rose said, gnawing away on the delightful snack.
Minx had good taste in shit like that. She was always getting him to try shit when they was kids and then he became addicted to it just like her ass.
“You know what I mean, Rose. Any trouble down there with the operation?” Max wondered, facing him with a fresh glass of bourbon in one hand.
“Nah, shit was smooth sailing. Marco and Revel got shit running like a well-oiled machine. Even the cartel mothafuckas don’t fuck with them.
They met with them, said their piece, everybody laid out their terms, shit been good,” Rose ensured him.
“They gave us access to their routes and shit. Now Lunes and his crew are looking for a mass amount of guns too. I told them I would talk to you about it when I got here.”
“I’ll hit him up, set up a meeting, see what he’s talking about. So are you back for good, or you just popping in?” Max queried, swallowing some of his drink.
Rose reclined on the sofa and kicked his feet back up.
“Shit, I’m back like I never left. Why? You got something for me?” His brows dipped above his hooded coffee-bean orbs.
“Yeah, we’ll talk more in the morning. Don’t be down here making all that noise. Mila come down here cussing y’all out, I ain’t in that shit.” With his glass in hand, Max moved toward the hallway to go about his business.
Moments later, Minx was out of the shower, coming down the steps with her hair falling in wet curls.
She had on some fuzzy socks and an old, beat-up ass Eagles shirt.
She’d had that damn shirt since middle school.
Rose knew because it used to belong to him before she jacked him.
She plopped right down beside him with the rest of her snacks.
He kept one hand on his chin and stared at her out of the corner of his eye.
One leg underneath herself, she snapped her head in his direction.
“So what have you been doing? I thought Miami would be the perfect town for you.” She let her head sink into the back pillow of the sofa.
Rose studied her face, taking in all the maturities that had developed in such a short amount of time.
“You remember the day we met?” Rose’s tongue ran across his lip, and his mouth curved up into the cutest simper.
Minx batted her eyes, face flushing as she tried to hide a smile. Rose did this to her every time. She couldn’t explain the automatic rush to the heart he gave her with the simplest words.
“Why do you do this?” she asked, lifting her head and holding his intense stare.
“’Cause I like thinking about simpler times,” he answered with a shrug, his voice very low.
He practically mirrored her thoughts, but that was nothing new.
“I remember that day like it was yesterday. We always knew of each other, but after that day, we knew each other.” Minx stared off and drifted into the past.
January 2001
The cold air nipped around Rose, trotting down the ruined Kansas City streets through the piles of snow that accumulated over the last three days.
Even then, it was still coming down as he pulled the hood to his First Down bubble coat over his head.
His nose was already frozen, right along with the rest of his face.
With both hands stuffed in his pockets, he watched minimal traffic pass him by on the street as he neared Barnett and the corner store.
Rose passed the store by, but something caught his eyes, beside a newspaper stand out front.
Squinting through the many flakes falling around him, Rose made out Minx.
Knees bent, she sat rocking back and forth.
He paused dead in his tracks and stared down at her.
“Hey, you okay?” he questioned, but she only rocked, barely acknowledging him. “It’s cold out here, shorty. Let me walk you home.” He stepped up and held his hand out.