Chapter Twenty.
Lawson and Preach were wrapping up their usual meeting when Dimitri stepped into the VIP section.
“Boss, there’s a woman here to see you. She’s got a couple of bikers with her, but they ain’t Knights.” He said.
Preach already knew who it was. “Send her back. Lawson, you dismissed.”
Lawson happily stood, grabbing his jacket.
These meetings were becoming more frequent.
With Preach at war with the Knights and the Feds on his trail, Lawson felt like every bit of downtime he got, Preach needed him present for information.
It was all becoming too much, and he was beginning to think he was way over his head.
If he kept this up, he might get caught.
And if the money wasn’t good, he would’ve walked away. Well, at least if Preach let him.
“Before I go, I still haven’t gotten my fee.”
Preach glanced at him. “I’m getting it.”
“You told me you’d give it to me after I got you that address. Then, last time, you said next meeting. Here we are, and I’m confused. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. So, what’s the hold up?”
“I’m getting the fucking money. I’ll call you when it’s ready for pickup.”
Lawson stared at him, clearly irritated, but then he looked around and saw the same guards, who had pointed guns at him before, and decided not to be pushy.
“Alright.” He reluctantly headed toward the exit, but as he passed through the restaurant, he spotted Dimitri walking a familiar face toward the VIP section.
Lawson’s steps slowed as his eyes narrowed, locking onto the woman.
He racked his brain, but it didn’t take long for him to remember where he knew her from.
His files. She was Crown Knight’s mother.
He remembered her vividly because, just days before, he had been accessing the data and searching for any addresses linked to Crown’s circle.
It was her address and Danger’s that he’d given to Preach.
Lawson looked from Kerri to the VIP entrance, confusion settling across his face.
What the fuck is she doing here to see Preach? He thought, but he didn’t ask. He kept walking, leaving the restaurant with the question stuck in his head instead.
Inside VIP, Preach waited with his 9mm in his hand. When Kerri stepped through the entrance, his chest tightened. It was crazy how all these years could pass, and this woman could still have that kind of effect on him.
Preach studied her silently, taking in everything from the outfit and heels she wore to the little weight she’d picked up since the last time he’d had her in his bed.
He knew exactly where that extra weight came from.
He had spent plenty of nights sitting outside her apartment, stalking the shit out of her after she told him she was going back to her ex.
The baby weight from her second child had stuck, but she was still as beautiful as ever.
Kerri had called his personal line that morning and told him she needed to see him.
He’d spent the rest of the day wondering what the hell she could possibly want after almost three decades.
For a split second, he didn’t trust it. What if Crown had found out about their history and sent her to get at him?
But the more Preach thought about it, the more he knew that wasn’t Crown’s character.
Crown would never drag his mother into a war.
“You got a lot of balls wanting to see me.” Preach said, the vein in his forehead starting to bulge.
Kerri held her head high, even though she was a nervous wreck inside. She would never let a muthafucka see her sweat. She was a Knight. She might not have had the balls, but she damn sure had the heart of a lion.
“I wanted to have a word with you.”
“The fuck for? Your son know you here?”
“I believe you already know the answer to that question.”
Preach stared at her, and Kerri stared right back.
“Just a word, Pierre.”
“After all these years…all the unanswered calls, and now you wanna speak to me? What the fuck you got to say?”
“I want to know why you’re at war with my son and to just…talk to you.”
Preach chuckled, his nostrils flaring.
“Oh, I get it. You came here worried that your secret might get exposed. That I might tell that nigga you used to fuck with me, had my baby, then ran off.”
“Let’s be clear. The real victim here is me. You didn’t tell me who you were. And Danger is not your son.”
“Have you had a blood test done on him?”
There were crickets as Kerri stared at him, fidgeting with her hands.
“Didn’t think so.” Preach shrugged. “But you know, you right. The muthafucka ain’t mine, at this point. You let another nigga raise him.”
“Is that why you’re upset? Is that why you started a war? Because of what you feel I did to you? Because if so, I apologize.”
“What?” Preach’s eyes narrowed.
That caught him completely off guard. Of all the things he expected from Kerri that day, an apology wasn’t one of them. Hell, after all these years, he had convinced himself he didn’t give a fuck about ever getting one. Somewhere along the way, he had learned to cover his hurt with rage.
“I apologize for walking away and hurting you, but we both know…we could never be.”
Kerri’s eyes glistened as she took him in. Much like her, Preach had aged like fine wine. His dark eyes told the soul of a devil, but that didn’t take away from his handsomeness. It never did.
His locs were pulled into a high, messy bun, while his salt-and-pepper beard was edged up to perfection.
His body was still tight and masculine, just as she remembered.
Even after all these years, there was still something about Pierre Guerrier that made her feel butterflies.
But she quickly checked herself. He had tried to kill her baby.
He was the enemy. Whatever they’d shared during those few years they spent dating no longer meant a damn thing.
Preach looked toward his men and jerked his head toward the exit. They quickly left the section, giving them some privacy. Once they were out of sight, he glanced back at Kerri and shook his head. His guard was beginning to drop, and that shit infuriated him.
Preach had killed muthafuckas for less. His father had raised him to be a monster, and that’s exactly what he became.
Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, he lived that life.
He had murked niggas and bitches without blinking, yet his number one enemy’s mother stood in front of him, and he was too weak to kill her. How that work? He thought.
Preach had looked his disloyal little sister in the eyes just before he dismembered her body. How could a cold nigga like him allow this? How could Lawson give him the address to her home, and he completely ignore it?
Preach couldn’t wrap his head around how Kerri still had this kind of hold on him.
So much so, she was still breathing. So much so, he had never changed his personal number, in hopes that she would call one day.
So, he did what he always did when it came to her…
he transformed the hurt into anger just not to feel so weak.
“I could kill you right now. Ou konnen sa?” Preach’s voice dropped. “Push yo’ shit back for how you did me.”
Kerri understood and clocked his emotions. He wasn’t talking about killing her to get at Crown. He was talking about getting revenge for the pain she’d left behind.
“You could, but you won’t because one of the leaders of the Council is right outside that door.
If you fire at me, he and his men will swarm this restaurant.
And if you fire at him or any of the guards with him, the Dessalinés Mob won’t just have the Knights to deal with.
You’ll have the Council, too. They won’t give a fuck about how it started or why.
All that will matter to them is that one of theirs is down. ”
Before he could respond, Kerri found her courage and stepped closer to him in her Red Bottoms. She reached for his hand and slowly pushed the gun downward. “But something tells me you won’t do it anyway because you still care.”
Preach’s gaze dropped to her, his breaths growing shallow as he took in her long black-and-gray hair.
Even at fifty-four, Kerri was still the flyest woman he’d ever come across.
Her rich brown skin glowed against her full lips, painted a deep red that he remembered all too well.
Her hair was extensions with leave-out, but they had been installed so well that he couldn’t tell where her real hair ended and the extensions began.
The virgin hair was so full and silky, it looked like it had grown straight from her scalp.
Kerri had always been fine, but somehow, she had only gotten better with age.
“What the fuck do you want, Kerri?”
“I told you. I want to know why you started a war with the Knights.”
“I didn’t start it.”
“Then what happened, Pierre?”
Preach grimaced, stepping back as he tucked his gun into his waistband.
Kerri was right. Fuck Prophet and the guards outside.
He didn’t give a damn about them niggas.
He wasn’t about to do anything to her simply because of what she used to mean to him.
Quiet as kept, she was the only woman he had ever loved.
The closest thing he had ever gotten to love.
If she had taken him as seriously as he had taken her, they could’ve had a beautiful life together.
But there had always been something with Kerri.
She liked him. He knew that much, but she never seemed ready.
She needed time to heal from her last relationship…
she wasn’t ready to bring anyone around her baby boy…
wasn’t ready to go public. Preach had gotten excuse after excuse back then, always hoping there would eventually be a reason for them to be together.
But in the end, he realized what the real issue had been.
Kerri had liked him a lot, but Ahmad Sr. obviously had her heart.
Preach walked over to the table where he had been seated, grabbed his drink, and took a sip, trying to steady himself.
Her calling him by his real name still stirred something deep within, making his gangster instincts want to retreat, a feeling he despised.
His father had warned him and his brother about women like Kerri…
women who could make a man lose sight of himself, women who could throw him off his game.
His father had plenty of women, never believing in love.
Yet Preach had once believed in it. He hadn’t listened. Instead, he dove headfirst with Kerri, wining and dining her, attempting to build something he never intended to create with anyone else. But…she chose someone else.
Memories flooded back, overwhelming him as he recalled her standing in front of him, looking stunning…
much like she did now. Preach bit down on his bottom lip, nostrils flaring as he wrestled with his emotions.
But like before, he couldn’t keep it together.
Kerri’s scent filled the air between them, wrapping around him.
He remembered that perfume—Guilty Gucci.
She had always loved it, and he had loved it on her, even buying her a couple of bottles along with a few Gucci handbags when they were dating.
“There was a mishap.” He finally admitted.
“I wanted money for my patience. Crown refused and threatened me. In the end, I let him have it, and we parted ways. War was never what I wanted, but Loki wanted Crown’s head after the disrespect. Shit got out of my hands. Crown survived and responded, so here we are.”
“So, you ordered the man who you believe is your son to be killed?” Kerri’s voice cracked with disbelief. “What type of man does that?”
Without warning, Preach tossed the glass at the wall, shattering it.
He closed the distance between them, wrapping his hand around her neck and pinning her against the wall.
It wasn’t meant to threaten; it was a way to convey just how deeply she had hurt him and the impact it had on him.
She wouldn’t leave this muthafucka painting him as the only bad guy.
She wouldn’t walk away thinking she could manipulate him.
One moment, she claimed Danger wasn’t his son, certain in her assertion; and now, she hinted that he might be when it suited her.
"You think I wanted this shit?" Preach asked.
“Mwen te renmen ou, Kerri. I could’ve set you and him up, draped in the finest shit.
I could’ve spoiled you rotten, and given all three of you the world if you’d just gone with me.
But you chose differently, so now you must take accountability, too.
Let’s not forget that even after you found out who I was, after you were done being mad…
you came back around and still fucked with me, opened your legs to me.
Because underneath all the bullshit, you knew I was good to you.
Then the nigga buys you a ring, and you run off pregnant like I meant nothing.
Nah. You fucked up, too. Whether I thought Danger was mine or not stopped mattering. He became a casualty of war.”