Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
ROMELO “ROME” JONES
"Do you feel how hard you got me, baby?" I whispered into her ear.
I needed her to understand—truly understand—how hard she had my dick.
The sight of her wasn't enough anymore. I'm a stingy ass, greedy ass nigga, and somewhat of a pervert when it comes to what I have a taste for.
The matter at hand—why we pulled up to Roxx's house in the first place—could wait.
The bleeding from my head could wait. Everything could wait.
I was fiending for some good shit, and if she was willing to give it up, cool. If not, I might have to take it.
"No" don't mean "no" to me. It means "yes."
"Romelo," Synthia scoffed, stirring her plump ass on my dick. She was trying to ease away, scooting forward in my lap, but she wasn't making it easier for herself. Every move she made, every shift of her hips, only made my dick harder.
"Your forehead needs stitches and you're trying to fuck. The answer is no, nigga."
Sucking my teeth and shaking my head, I leaned forward, pulling her back against my chest. My hand rested on her stomach—that little pooch she had—and I rubbed it gently, possessively, like I had something that belonged to me growing inside of it.
"I hear you, but what if I ain't trying to fuck? What if I want you to suck my dick?"
She cocked her head over her shoulder, looking back at me with an intense glare. Her eyes were sharp, cutting through the dim light of the car. "What the fuck makes you think I'm sucking something that's been inside my cousin?"
"How many times I got to tell you we haven't fucked?"
"And what the fuck makes me think I believe you?"
My face screwed up in frustration. This again. "Shit. I can call her right now and ask her if you want me to."
"Romelo, please," Synthia shrieked, waving her hand dismissively.
But I wasn't playing. Ignoring her protests, she reached into my pocket anyway—her hand brushing against my dick in the process, making me grunt—and pulled out my phone. I let go of her stomach with my other hand so I could key in my passcode, then scrolled to Trecee's contact and hit call.
She picked up on the third ring, anxiousness dripping from her tone like honey.
"Baby, where'd you go?"
"Aye, quick question. When was the last time you and I fucked?"
There was a pause. I could hear her take a deep breath, then suck her tongue against her teeth—that thing she does when she's annoyed but trying not to show it.
"What type of question is that?"
"One that I want you to answer."
"It's been a while, and you know that. Romelo, what're you getting at? This is childish."
"Nothing. That's all I needed to know."
With that being said, I hung up in her face, cutting her off before she could ask me more unnecessary ass questions. I placed my phone in the cup holder, making sure the screen showed I'd hung up before I started talking. The last thing I needed was Trecee hearing this conversation.
"Does that clarify shit for you?"
Synthia crossed her arms—or tried to, forgetting for a second that we were in close quarters. "Whatever the answer turned out to be, I'm not giving you head. I'm too pretty for that."
I raised my brow. "You ain't never done it?"
"Nope."
"You childish as hell."
"Not too childish," she teased, a sly grin spreading across her face. "I had you eating my pussy on the first night."
I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, you cocky as hell too. You got that right, though. Ain't no shame in my game, so don't go around getting the bobblehead."
She giggled, the sound light and carefree—so different from the tense, scared girl who'd watched me put a bullet near my own head just hours ago.
Before I could say anything else, Roxx appeared through his garage door, fully dressed, thankfully.
He knew I was bringing Synthia with me, so that might've had something to do with him choosing to wear clothes.
That nigga liked walking around the house with his dick and balls out—some shit about "being free in his own space" or whatever the fuck.
I'll never understand the logic behind that shit.
"C'mon." I tapped Synthia on the stomach and pulled the handle on the door so we could exit.
The night air hit us immediately—cool, crisp, clean. A relief after being cooped up in the car with all that tension.
Synthia's head was down as we walked toward Roxx, and I could tell she was feeling ashamed. Embarrassed, maybe. She didn't know my brother, didn't know what to expect.
Through hooded lids, I could see Roxx eye-fucking her. He wasn't even trying to be subtle about it. His eyes roamed over her body—her thick thighs, her ass, her tits—then back to me. He was talking with his eyes, motioning them toward me, then nodding his head in approval.
Yeah, nigga. I see you.
"Fuck you done got yourself into, lil' nigga?" he asked, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and concern as he looked at the bandage on my head.
Synthia lifted her head and spoke before I could. "Your stupid ass brother shot himself! Is this regular behavior?"
Roxx didn't even blink. "I guess you could say that, but he used to do a lot of stupid ass shit when we were younger. He used to give our mama hell, thinking he'd die from doing stupid shit all the time. He ain't never been afraid of a dare either."
Synthia pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips. "Hmph. He's going to need stitches, right?"
Roxx stood aside so we could walk ahead of him toward the entrance to his dungeon. "I ain't a damn doctor, but I doubt it."
The door to the dungeon was adjacent to his home entryway.
From the outside, it looked like a normal door—nothing special.
But if anyone got curious and tried to open it, they'd be met with a metal door and a combination lock on the other side.
Only a few people knew the code: me, Roxx, and our parents.
Reese wouldn't get it until he was released from prison. He had no use for it now.
It was a safety measure. If shit went haywire—if the feds came knocking, if rival niggas tried to run up—the dungeon became a fortress. Roxx had stocked it with medical supplies, weapons, food, water. Everything you'd need to survive for weeks if necessary.
I wasn't against having a dungeon. It made sense, logically. But to me, it always felt unnecessary—until Roxx proved that it wasn't.
Like now.
Roxx punched in the code, and the metal door clicked open. We stepped inside, and I heard it lock behind us automatically.
The room was sterile—white walls, white floors, fluorescent lights that made everything look too bright. In the far corner sat a hospital bed, and next to it, a woman in scrubs. The doctor.
Synthia's eyes grew wide, taking everything in. She looked like she'd stepped into a sci-fi movie.
"What the fuck is this place?" she whispered.
"Somewhere safe," I said simply.
The doctor stood and walked over to us, her expression professional and detached. She'd seen worse than a grazed forehead, I'm sure.
"Let me take a look," she said, gesturing for me to sit on the bed.
I obeyed, and Synthia hovered nearby, her arms crossed over her chest. She started firing off questions—asking about infection, scarring, whether I needed antibiotics. The doctor answered each one patiently while cleaning the wound and applying gauze.
"You won't need stitches," the doctor finally said. "Just keep it clean and dry. Change the bandage daily."
"See?" I looked at Synthia. "Told you I'd be fine."
She rolled her eyes. "You're still psychotic."
Roxx had disappeared by then—probably back upstairs. That nigga wasn't a babysitter, and he didn't feel the need to linger.
Once the doctor finished, I stood, and Synthia and I made our way back through the metal door. Roxx buzzed us out, and we stepped into the cool night air again.
"Long as you don't talk about leaving me, it won't happen again," I said as we walked toward the car.
Synthia stopped in her tracks. "Have you always been this crazy?"
I stopped too, turning to face her. "Have you ever taken food from a lion?"
She scoffed and shook her head. "Is that even possible?"
"Would you try it?"
"I think between the two of us, you'd be the one to try some crazy shit like that." She paused, her brow furrowing. "Trecee never mentioned this side of you at all."
"I don't care about her like that."
She tried folding her arms but stopped mid-way, remembering the handcuffs were finally off. Her wrists were free now, and she rubbed them absentmindedly. "After all these years?"
"How hard is that for you to believe?"
"I believe that you shouldn't continue to waste someone else's time if you aren't in love with them.
That's as simple as it gets. Why continue to string anyone along if your feelings are no longer there?
Do her a favor and call it off. I'm sure she's noticed the shift by now—your energy toward her.
If that's how you treat her all the time, I would've left a long time ago.
It's not worth the flashy shit, the money, the cars, or the bragging. "
Her words hit harder than I expected. Not because they hurt, but because they were true.
"I don't know, honestly. I've put up with that shit for too long. Most of it is pity. Like I said, she damn near saved me from death. She's loyal, despite me checking out of the relationship a long time ago."
"You'd rather juggle two balls?"
I shrugged, not thinking that far ahead. Synthia was making shit mathematical and complicated. Though I ain't never been known to back down from a challenge, she was putting her point of view into perspective for me.
I know what I have with Trecee, and it ain't worth keeping. It sure as hell ain't worth fighting for. I wouldn't jump in front of a bullet to save Trecee, but I'd jump in front of a moving train for Synthia.
I didn't have any options to weigh out, and it wasn't debatable.