I shook my head. “That doesn’t even matter. I need you to be okay.”
“I ain’t never leaving you.”
“Forever?” I asked him.
He nodded. “Forever.”
Chapter Seventeen
AHKEEM
There wasyellow tape all around my baby’s club, and it was shut down until further notice. The Feds wasn’t letting up since we dropped mad bodies that night and there was no explanation for it ‘cause none of us were cooperating with the Feds and Kaymen got rid of the footage. My wife had been down since the night of the white party. Shit was going great until it wasn’t. Silas was like a fucking chihuahua that kept biting at my fucking ankles. I was sick of this nigga, and I was ready to put him down once and for fucking all.
Sunday rolled around, and despite the shit we endured the previous night at the white party, Priest and Britain were still hosting dinner. Priest and the guys really held it down for me last night. I knew they were businessmen now and no longer wanted to be involved in the streets, but when push came to shove, they were knocking niggas’ heads off.
We were in the car, enduring the lengthy drive to Staten Island. Typically, my wife would’ve been yapping a mile a minute about various things, jumping from topic to topic, but today she was really quiet. I reached over and squeezed her thigh, garnering her attention.
“You alright?”
She nodded while tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “Yeah. I’m good.”
I glanced into the rearview mirror, ensuring that Saphir was occupied with his iPad and headphones. My son was sharp and nosy as hell, so certain conversations couldn’t be had around him.
“You lying to me now?”
“Ahkeem, I just have a lot on my mind right now.”
“Lay it out to me, Lovey. I thought we were in this shit together.”
She toyed with her wedding ring on her finger. After being with her for as long as I had, I learned that my baby wasn’t much of a talker. She liked to keep shit bottled up until she figured it out or exploded. She never asked for anything twice, nor did she complain about getting things done. I knew the club was weighing heavy on her mind. Club Reign was her baby. She built it from the ground up to where it was now, and Silas’ bitch ass fucked it up for her by sending some niggas to shoot up her party.
She started to speak before opting against it and angling herself so she could look out the window at the passing scenery.
“It ain’t your problem to deal with,” she mumbled.
She spent all night assuring me that she wasn’t upset that my drama popped off at her club and was now costing her business, but now that the adrenaline had worn off, I couldn’t help but think she was a little mad. I couldn’t blame her, though. When shit went left, there was always someone to blame. In this case, all this shit landed on me.
“You’re my wife, Lovey. Your problems are my problems. Ain’t shit I can’t handle when it comes to you.”
“Eleven bodies, Ahkeem… eleven fucking bodies!” she gritted out while whipping around to face me again. I could see the frustration all over her face. “How the fuck are you gonna handlethat? Huh? There ain’t enough damage control in the world that’ll get the club opened back up.”
“I’m sorry, Lovey.”
“Just stop… stop apologizing. I don’t need an apology. I know it’s not your fault, and you didn’t intentionally have him come target my club. I just need some time to figure out what I have to do for me.”
The hostility in her tone let me know it would be best to back off the conversation until she got in a better headspace. She was upset, lost, and hurt. Now wasn’t the time to assume she would give me a rational response to anything I said.
The rest of the ride was quiet. When we arrived, I got both her and Saphir out the car.
“Daddy, when will your arm get better?” my son asked as he eyed the bandages Brixton patched me up with.
“We getting there. I’m getting a little old, so I take a little while longer to heal,” I laughed off. He had questions about it, but I maneuvered around him like I was inThe Matrix.
We were greeted by Britain and her belly when she answered the door. She was really chilling. She had her hair pulled up, sweats on, and her shirt rolled up so everyone could see her oiled-up stomach.
“Look at you!” Jazzlyn’s hands went straight to her belly. “You wasn’t playing about not doing anything today.”
Britain sent a message in our family group chat that she would not be cooking dinner today and dinner would be catered by her and Priest’s old chef, Talia. She catered each and every one of the parties we threw, so I wasn’t concerned about the food at all. We were guaranteed to eat good.
