12. Nairobi Crawford #2
Jelani leaned over from the driver’s seat. “Baby doll, we got a flight in a few hours, and I ain’t tryna hear your mouth talkin’ bout you don’t wanna get up because you're hungover.”
She yanked the door open, muttering under her breath as she climbed in his car.
Cash helped Jasmine into the truck while she kept going. “You ain’t have to embarrass me like that. You could’ve just texted.”
“You forgot who you married, mama? That was very on brand for me.”
She glared at him and slammed the door closed.
“This woman always slamming my shit,” Cash grumbled.
I watched the Range Rover pull off. I could see Cash’s silhouette lean over and kiss Jasmine. Two cars down, Jelani was pulling out with Monica still animated in the passenger seat. The whole scene looked like bad ass kids getting collected at the end of a birthday party.
Fontaine waited until they were gone, then looked for Drea. She and Rochelle were at the valet station.
“You good?” he asked her.
“Rochelle’s gonna take me home,” Drea said, her eyes flicking between us. “I’m not tryna interrupt whatever you got going on here.”
Heat crept up my neck and I looked away, pretending to adjust my coat.
“Text me when you get home,” he said.
“Aight, big head,” she replied, smirking as the valet brought Rochelle’s car to the curb. “Thanks for handling those guys earlier, Nairobi.”
Fontaine turned to me. “What guys?”
“Nothing,” I said.
He gave me a look that said he was bringing it up later.
“Is this the part where your bossy ass tells me you’re taking me home?”
“Home? I’m taking you back to my place.”
He opened the passenger door and waited for me to get in before rounding to the driver’s side. My phone vibrated as he pulled off.
Jasmine
That was fun, let’s do it again after I get this baby out of me
(404) 777-8943
Money finna keep that ass on lock till your baby is good and grown
And I guess I was in a group chat now. I’d never really had girlfriends before—especially not the kind with their own language.
The women I’d dealt with through the Agency were strictly professional, and fraternizing wasn’t in the contract killer handbook.
Yet Jasmine had roped me into her circle like I already belonged there. That meant more than I expected it to.
“Had fun?” Fontaine’s voice brought me out of my thoughts.
I let out a small laugh. “It was cool… until you niggas decided to ruin it.”
“Jasmine knew Cash was gon’ find out eventually.”
“And the screen above the DJ booth?”
He gave me a non-committal shrug. “What did Drea mean about you handling some guys?”
I looked at him. “I said it was nothing.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“These dudes were trying to get into our section and didn’t want to leave.” I shrugged. “I made sure they did.”
He shook his head. “This is why Cash wants her to have a detail.”
“I told her the same thing.”
“She’s as hardheaded as him.”
“Since when your sister been cool with Jas and Monica?” I asked.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Jasmine didn’t really have any friends outside of Monica and Rochelle. And Drea’s always been a people person, plus she does hair. Made sense to introduce them.”
“I see.” I stared out the window for a second, then turned back to him.
He cut me a glance. “Say what you gotta say.”
“What’d you tell Drea about me? She looked at me like she knew something.”
His grip on the steering wheel tightened, as he kept his eyes focused on the road.
“She doesn’t know about your work,” he said.
“But between New York and then Miami? I was fucked up. She pressed me one day, sick of me moping around. So I told her your name and what you meant to me. That I was trying to figure out how to breathe without you around.”
I stared out the window. “She seems cool,” I said eventually. “Didn’t expect to meet her tonight, that’s all.”
Fontaine kept his arm around me as we rode the elevator up to his condo. When we stepped into his place, I dropped my coat on the arm of a dining chair and plopped down on the couch to take off my boots.
Fontaine locked the door and dropped his keys in the dish by the console.
“You want water or something?” he asked.
“I’m good.”
He nodded and headed into the kitchen to grab himself a bottle. “You know it wasn’t just because Jas was in the club tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“This shit with the Order got Cash on edge,” he said, twisting the cap.
“He’s not telling her because he doesn’t want to stress her out.
I don’t think they’d touch her, but he doesn’t like her out without a detail.
She’s always hated that shit, but you know how it goes.
Same with Jelani and Monica. They’re not trying to have them unnecessarily exposed. ”
“I told the Order yes.”
“You what?”
“I let them know a few days ago.”
He set the water bottle down slowly. “And you’re just now telling me?
“I didn’t want it to become a thing.”
“Why couldn’t you give me a little more time to do some more digging? You know I was trying to help you.”
I rolled my eyes. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to say anything. I can handle my shit.”
He scoffed, shaking his head. “Figures.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you always carrying shit on your back like it’s your job to be the sacrificial lamb.” He stepped away from the counter and walked over to me on the couch. “You already said yes—so what, you want my blessing? Or you just telling me so I stop asking questions?”
His words stung more than I expected.
“I’m telling you because you deserve to know,” I said. “There wasn’t another option.”
“There’s always another option. You just didn’t give me a chance to find one.” He sat on the edge of the coffee table. “You think you saying yes is protecting everyone? All you’re doing is handing them what they want while pushing me out.”
I stood, fists clenched. “They shot at your car! You just said Cash and Jelani are stressed. If I didn’t cooperate?—”
“We not new to this shit, Nai,” he snapped. “You know how long we been in the game. If it wasn’t the Order, it’d be somebody else. There’s always a risk. Even Jasmine and Monica know that. What aren’t you getting?” He tapped his temple, eyes sharp.
My heart pounded in my chest. He looked at me, seeing through every excuse I clung to. It made me feel too open, too seen. I needed space. I tried to move past him, but he blocked my path.
“Nairobi, you’re thirty-eight,” he said in a low voice. “You’ve gotta stop running and let this martyr shit go. Haven’t I shown you I’m all in?”
I didn’t respond. But when I looked up at him, I saw the fire in his eyes. He was restraining himself from really going off on me. I hated how easy I folded for him. How one look could make me forget why I built a wall around my heart in the first place.
My hand slipped beneath the hem of his shirt and felt the heat of his skin against my palm.
“Take it off,” I murmured.
He caught my wrist. “Nah. You’re not doing that.”
“Doing what?”
He held my gaze. “Every time shit gets uncomfortable, you flip the switch. You think if you fuck me good enough, it’ll smooth everything over and I’ll forget what we’re talking about.”
I pulled my hand back. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“It’s exactly what you’re doing. And it works every time. That’s the fucked up part.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not saying I don’t want you. You know I do. But I need you to hear me, for real—not just wait for me to stop talking so you can get out of doing something hard.”
The silence between us stretched and I stood there, arms folded, jaw clenched like a petulant child.
“This is too much,” I said. “I don’t know how to let someone help me. And yeah, maybe I default to sex to avoid the hard shit. It’s easier than sitting in it.”
Something in his expression softened. He closed the distance between us and tilted my chin up.
“You gotta stop running game on me, Nai. I’m not one of your marks.”
I swallowed hard and nodded.
He held me there for a long moment, his hand warm against the side of my neck.
And I could see the question written on his face.
Am I enough? He kissed me like he was making sure I understood this wasn’t just physical.
I rose onto my toes and kissed the base of his throat.
“I don’t wanna argue anymore tonight, Bear,” I whispered before dragging my tongue slowly across his chest. He tensed under me, and when I looked up, his eyes had darkened.
“Pants off,” I said, sliding my leggings down my hips.
He licked his lips and obeyed, pushing his sweats down and freed himself—already hard, a bead of pre-cum gleaming at the tip.
I pulled off my top and let it fall to the floor. His eyes dragged over me as I tugged down my leggings, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to ruin or savor me. It was that same look from two years ago in the private room at Stilettos—desire and possession, like he hated the hold I had over him.
I climbed into his lap and straddled him.
“You done lecturing me?” I breathed against his ear and rolled my hips so he could feel how wet I was.
He exhaled sharply. “Fuckin’ tease.”