Page 31 of Gang of Roses: Dice

Honor laughed.

“Yureni cooked. But if yuh stubborn ass would hire a damn chef, yuh wouldn’t be starving every time yuh decide fi visit yuh own man cave."

I chuckled.

“Visit my mancave?” I questioned.

“Yup. Yuh never deh inna Denim Creek. Dem house nuh cheap, star... but mi bwoy rich-rich. Him have casino money. Yuh buy di place just fi come shower and sleep.”

I laughed, shaking my head.

The homes in Denim Creek were massive. Honor lived on the other side of the lake, but with the size of the properties and all the land between us, you couldn’t see his house from mine, and he couldn’t see mine from his.

“Nigga you know I don’t like folks in my shit. This my sanctuary.”

“Mi know. So, what yuh up to?” Honor asked.

“Getting ready to swing by Oats and fuck off with them.”

“Oh, hell... wear a bulletproof vest.”

“Look who talkin’ yo’ ass need a helmet fuckin’ with Burna and Block’s asses.”

Honor busted out laughing because he knew I was telling the truth. Them too was a mess, and Burna was a straight head case.

“Mi tell yuh duck when bullets fly, okay?”

“Nigga, that shit ain’t funny. I ain’t got time for Oats and his bullshit.”

“Mi just sayin’.”

I was sure if I could see him, he said that with a shrug.

“But check it, I’m ‘bout to slide. My stomach startin’ to touch my damn back. Tell Yureni I said wassup. Y’all already got the code to the door, and the security guard knows to let you in. Put somethin’ in the refrigerator, bruh.”

Honor sucked his teeth.

“Nigga, go find yuh own damn wife. Mi no work fa yuh bwoy. Mi maid do.”

I couldn’t even reply because this fool hung up the damn phone.

Dude was crazy for real, but he was solid. We knew each other from Golden Shores; we weren’t close until we got older, but we went to school together, and there was no beef—only mutual respect.

It was nice outside, and I felt like getting fresh. After a hot shower, I threw on a pair of Who Decides War Embroidered Liberty jeans, an all-white Wooster V-neck T-shirt, and finished the fit with some red Christian Louboutins. Whether I was sitting in a boardroom or standing on the block, one thing was guaranteed—I was gon’ have my shit on. A diamond stud in my ear, my Cuban link watch, and a few rings later, I gave myself one last look in the mirror before heading downstairs.

There was no driver today, thank God. Honestly, I hated some of the rich perks, but they were necessary when traveling to handle business. I preferred to push my own shit. I walked into the garage and looked over the lineup of cars for a second before my eyes landed on the white G-Wagon.

Yeah... that was definitely the vibe for today.

The red interior complemented the hell out of my fit. I grabbed the keys off the hook, hit the remote, and smiled as the headlights flashed back at me. The engine purred to life the moment I pushed the start button. I backed out of the garage, rolled through the gates of the estate, threw a head nod up at Jerry at the gate, and headed toward the city, ready to see what kind of bullshit the homies had waiting on me.

It didn't take me long to pull into Oats' neighborhood. The gated community was lined with million-dollar homes, each one sitting on enough land that you could damn near forget you had neighbors, and Oats liked to think he didn’t, but they could still see each other wave, so they were there, but he didn’t give two shits about these folks.

Manicured lawns, custom stonework, oversized driveways, and luxury rides parked out front let you know everybody over this way had touched some money.

Oats’ house definitely stood out. He didn’t care about an HOA or the cops, for that matter. He’d hire top lawyers just to find loopholes in the community guidelines so he could mess with them people.

Looking up, I just shook my head. This fool had both garage doors rolled up with old-school music knocking so hard the bass rattled the damn windows. Smoke from the grill drifted through the air while a domino table, coolers, and lawn chairs had turned his driveway into a whole block party.