Stolen Love (KC Queens #4)

Chapter 1 Amethyst

Chapter one

Amethyst

Business was business, no matter how evident it became to me that the saying was going to end up getting people killed.

Not the ones that I was close to, but the ones who worked my nerves, like the muthafucka talking right now.

I was trying hard to keep my cool, but it wasn’t working.

Instead, I turned my attention to the large glass window that separated the room I was in from the rest of the library.

The more Grant talked, the more I got annoyed with him and this shit.

The only reason he was alive right now was because I knew it would break Yale’s heart if something happened to him.

“Supply is low,” Grant Kilmore said as he paced.

I grunted but didn’t say anything. He never touched the supply that he was worried about, yet he swore he was the mastermind of it all.

In the years I’d been working with him, nigga was a comedian.

“I looked at the inventory, and it shows that we need six more cars. I have buyers and no supply.”

We were on campus; it was smarter to navigate the library’s hallways than the streets. No one looked twice at a group of people sitting around a room in a private space in the library. We looked like we were having a study session instead of planning crimes.

“Not our fault,” I said, shaking my head as I stared him down.

“We move what we can and how we can. You know we don’t go off a list.” I tapped the paper on the table in front of me.

This list was a twenty-year minimum bid if we were caught, and that was only if the police caught us.

If the niggas who these cars belonged to caught us, we’d be dead.

“That list will put half of a mill in your pocket,” he countered, and I shrugged.

Grant didn’t know shit about cars, and it was evident because if he did, he would know that stealing the cars on his list would have eyes on us.

“All money ain’t good money,” I said, sitting back and crossing my arms.

“Look at the thief having a conscious,” he chuckled lowly and shook his head. He must’ve thought his smart-ass comment was said low enough, but I heard him. I knocked on the table twice to get his attention, then lifted my shirt to show him my gun.

“I don’t tolerate disrespect, square nigga,” I said, shaking my head.

“Let that be the last time you try me.” Grant stared me down like he wanted problems before he finally gave me a singular nod.

Satisfied, I lowered my shirt and got back to business.

“I don’t want Yale on my team, though. I can call Bodhi and ask him to step in.

” Even though Yale could drive her ass off, I wanted her out of the game.

My boy Bodhi Rush was good as fuck, and I knew he was always looking for a way to make some money.

“Can’t,” Grant said, shaking his head. “He’s already on a team. I checked.”

“Fuck,” I groaned and wiped my hands over my face.

“I’ve already talked to Yale about it; she will do the drive.”

“Nah,” I denied. “I don’t want her in this.”

“I get it,” he said, nodding. “I really do. She’s my girlfriend, and I love her, but there is no one else to do it.”

“Let me think on it,” I sighed.

“We don’t have that much time,” he replied. “They need to know within the next twenty minutes.”

“Why the fuck did you wait to tell me?” I questioned him. I hated last-minute shit, and Grant knew that. We’d been doing business long enough that he knew my ticks just like I knew his.

“I’ve been calling you for the last few days!” he snapped, then sat back in his chair like he realized he’d fucked up. He put his hands out in front of him and shook his head. “Look, I didn’t mean to snap like that, but I’ve been calling you for days. You never returned my call until this morning.”

I grilled Grant, then smirked and laughed.

Yeah, he’d been calling me for the last week, but my schedule was packed with shit that was important.

I had class, and when my head wasn’t buried in a book or between a bitch’s thighs, I was spending time with my best friend, who also happened to be his woman.

Yale was the most important person in my life besides my parents and brothers.

For her, I’d drop everything to make sure she was good.

“Alright,” I nodded.

“You’ll do it?” Grant asked. I could see the excitement in his eyes, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

This nigga was a square, through and through.

How he even ended up with a woman like Yale, or in our line of business, was beyond me.

His brothers were street niggas, but Grant kept his head down and focused on his future career.

He wanted to be a damn meteorologist, and his square ass looked the part.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I’ll talk to Yale later and let her know she’ll be spotting me.”

“Spotting you?” he questioned, and I nodded. “You aren’t a driver.” The way he dismissed my idea had me ready to smack the shit out of him.

“I can drive, I just chose not to,” I corrected him.

Growing up, I’d stumbled into stealing cars.

My brothers were in the streets, living their lives and hustling.

One day, I got bored and decided to steal a car, to see if I could.

The first few cars, I fucked up, even setting one on fire, but one of the old heads pulled me to the side and showed me the ropes.

After that, I stole any car I could get my hands on.

The more expensive it was, the more complicated and the more I wanted it.

By the time I got to college, I had a rep, and niggas wanted to make fast money.

When I was introduced to Grant, I had one stipulation: if the grab didn’t feel right, I didn’t do it.

“Yale already said she was going to drive,” he said, shaking his head.

“Yale may tell you what to do, but she doesn’t tell me what to do,” I stated.

Yale controlled her relationship with Grant.

He was a square nigga, and she was a street-smart woman.

I would never say she was from the hood because she wasn’t, but she knew how to navigate both the hood and school equally.

“I’ll let her know I’m the driver, and that’s final. ”

“You think it will be that simple?” he asked, and I shrugged. “She’s not going to roll over because you said.”

“I never said I was going to have her roll over,” I said, shaking my head. “We’ll talk. She’ll understand, and that’ll be it.”

“If you say so,” he grunted.

“I do,” I said as I stood. “Text me the information for the race, and I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” he agreed.

I picked up my bag from the floor, put it on, and exited the room. There was no reason to continue being in the same room as Grant. We weren’t friends; I only tolerated him because he was my connect and Yale. She loved his scary ass, and even though I didn’t understand it, I respected her decision.

Truthfully, she needed someone like him.

Someone who wasn’t in the streets heavy like I was, someone who could give her the calm life she deserved.

Even though I was in med school, working my ass off to get an education and make my family proud, I was still in the streets.

It was a chance that every time I walked out of the house, I might not come home, and she was the type of girl who would ride for life.

Her having a square nigga ensured that she got the peaceful life she always said she wanted.

I walked to the other side of campus, where she was in class, and opened the building’s door.

The hallways were busy, but niggas moved out of my way.

I was focused on finding Yale and talking to her.

When I arrived at her class, I pulled open the door, looked around, and found her sitting in the first row.

Instead of interrupting her professor like I wanted to, I sat in the back of the room, in the corner, and watched Yale as she listened.

She was beautiful. Even from back here, I could see all her features.

Warm brown skin, long oval face, full lips, small nose, slanted expressive eyes, freckles littered the bridge of her nose, and her hair was in braids.

Like always, she rocked her signature 90’s style with the baggy jeans, oversized shirt that seemed to fit her somehow still, chunky hoop earrings, and a bunch of fucking gold bracelets.

I talked shit constantly about her style, but low-key, no one could pull that shit off but Yale.

She was also smart as fuck; majoring in Gemology, which I never even knew was a fucking thing until her, fine arts, and metal work.

For the next hour, I watched her, loving how relaxed and free she was, and ignored her professor. I didn’t give a fuck about what that nigga was talking about. When class was over, I stood, adjusted my bag, and approached her.

“Yale,” I called out, and she stopped packing her bag to look up at me. The smile that blossomed on her face had a nigga’s heart slamming into his chest.

“Hey,” she greeted me. When I was close enough, I pulled her into a hug, kissed her forehead, and let her go. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to check you out,” I said, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “I need to run something by you.”

“Okay.” She nodded, then turned back to finish packing up her bag.

While she did that, I licked my lips and let my eyes take her in freely.

I loved everything about Yale, and when I was around her, I was reminded of that.

She wasn’t even trying to be sexy, but she was fine as fuck to me.

She had curves, which I loved, and most nights I wanted to lie my head on her titties and fall asleep.

I’d done that shit a few times, and let me say right now, I never had a better night’s rest than I did then.

“Slide me that bag and stop playing,” I said, putting my hand out before she could put her bag on her shoulder.

“You have your own bag,” she pointed out, and I grilled her.