Page 24

Damien

Business is fuckin’ booming. It’s right after twelve. The proverbial midday rush. The cafe is already loaded with customers. The line forming at the front is longer than Booker T’s dreads. I’m standing in the corner with a coffee cup in hand, watching on like a thief in the shadows. Admiring my space. The interior is exactly how I envisioned it. Brown and black color scheme with a wood finish. Thick armchairs placed on opposite ends of the shop for people to sit and work. Four small marble tables positioned in rows on the left. I’m still working on putting in a PlayStation and Nintendo Switch towards the back for kids to play around on while their parents are busy. It’s a work in progress.

I’m still extremely proud of how things are going. This is what dreams and consistency can bring. After all of the hard knocks and struggles, I’m actually doing this shit. Running my own coffee shop. Watching people drink my brand. Enjoying my space. Reviews have been consistently positive. Not to mention having a solid menu. And a solid crew as well.

My sister Destiny in particular is straight up killing it. Seeing her growth in the role of store manager makes my decision in putting her there much easier to process. She runs a tight ship with our staff. Strict but sweet. Firm but understanding. It impresses the hell out of me.

Especially considering that I kind of just gave her the position. She didn’t have to go through any special training or anything like that. Which I knew was a risk. It’s not an easy thing to do, managing a staff in a new business.

But she’s doing it. Proving me right and the world wrong. Just watching her in action further emphasizes that. Now it could be a family business. If my damn brother would get his fuckin’ head on straight. He could be right there with her, helping keep things in order. It’s all good though. We’ll just keep winning without him.

My two baristas of the day, Briana and Daphne, are at the front, handling orders without issue. One thing I taught them early is to never rush. No matter how long the line is. Take time to handle every customer with care and a smile. It’s more effective than moving too fast, potentially fucking up an order more than need be. It’s good seeing them implement that strategy.

Little sis, meanwhile, is mopping up a small spill near the front entrance. Wise move. Can’t have mothafuckas slipping and falling. The last thing needed right now is a lawsuit. Once I’ve seen enough, I head into the back office, closing the door behind me. I still have a few roster changes to make, plus tracking inventory. Typical business shit.

My office isn’t anything too special. I haven’t transformed it into some extravagant man cave yet. It’s your typical run-of-the-mill office. Plain walls. The size of the average cubicle. There’s a black safe on the floor near the door, holding a Glock and a small stash of blue faces in case something goes wrong. The fanciest thing about it outside of my MacBook, is the little Keurig I just brought in the week before last. It’s cool enough for me to handle business, so that’s what matters.

I walk to my desk, adorned with pictures of me and Morgan. My favorite is one of us on our wedding night. I take it everywhere. She’s in my arms; both of us are happier than kids in a Lego store. A smile appears anytime I see it because not even five minutes after that picture, we were in the limo fucking like rabbits. Didn’t even make it to the hotel. Next to that picture is one of me with the rest of the family. Rayne included. Our last full family portrait. The last time we actually felt like one.

I barely plop into my leather recliner when Morgan shoots me a text.

Wifey: We’re on for tonight, bae. Syren will be over at 10.

That didn’t take long. Not that I’m shocked. Just like me, Morgan is a natural charmer. She can have a woman melting at her feet faster than it takes time to change. It’ll take a while to get used to Miami not being our third. Nonetheless, I’m down. There’s nothing like ending the night taking somebody’s daughter through there with my wife. Putting her body through things she only thought exists in those nasty books Morgan reads.

I text her right back.

Me: Bet. I’ll have Ecstasy Island ready for her.

Wifey: Good boy. Here’s a reward to hold you over.

Seconds later, a video pops us in our messages that instantly changes the mood. Morgan is in our bed with no panties, in full view of the lens. With her staring into the camera, she takes her right middle finger into her mouth, sucking on it until moisture covers the skin. My dick is already stiffening before she even slides it inside her hole, moaning upon contact. She slides the finger in and out at a turtle’s pace, tempting me to come home early. I’m two minutes into the video when a knock at the door halts the proceedings.

“Shit,” I groan, pausing the video, “Come in.”

Destiny opens the door moments later, clipboard in hand. She sits down next to me, exhaling like she’s been holding it in forever.

“Whew, it’s crazy out there, big bro.”

It was about to get crazy in here too until she came in.

“Yeah, I see. But you’re out here handling shit though.”

She mockingly dusts her shoulder off, “Please, it’s nothing to me. All in a day’s work.” “Good. That’s what I want to hear.”

“I do have a confession though.”

Destiny has the face of someone who did something regrettable. “What’s up?”

“It’s actually kind of personal.” She’s nervous. “Is everything cool?”

“Um, sure. I just don’t want you getting mad.” “What did you do, Destiny?”

She sinks in her chair, “Promise you won’t get mad?”

I let out a sigh, “Destiny, the last time you said this to me, I ended up having to kick a nigga’s door down to beat his ass. But fine, I promise. Now tell me what’s going on.”

“Okay, so, I may or may not have given a little cash to Rayne last night.” “Did you, or didn’t you?”