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YB knew it was useless to argue with his cousin. Rufus was a thug 24/7, ride-or-die type of nigga and always into some shit. YB, however, knew how to tone it down and not show that thuggish side of him all the time. Unfortunately, he couldn’t instill that type of thinking into his cousin.
“Yo, let me buy you a drink, nigga, and calm your attitude,” YB said.
“Yeah, spend your money on family, not these chicks, my nigga.”
YB shook his head and walked toward the bar. While YB and Rufus approached the bar, Crown left it and went over to Sweet. He was upset with Sweet for the smiles she showed YB. He’d warned his chicks that he didn’t want anyone talking to that nigga, and if they were caught doing so, harsh repercussions would follow.
Sweet stood from the man’s lap, fixed her G-string, and got ready to take the young man to the VIP room. Crown appeared behind her and grabbed her strongly by her forearm.
“Daddy, what I do?” Sweet asked, panicked.
“Nigga, bounce for a minute. She’ll get up wit’ you soon,” Crown told the young man.
Knowing about Crown’s reputation and his violent ways, the young man walked off without hesitation.
Crown yoked Sweet by her throat and pushed her against the wall, knocking over chairs in the procedure. “Bitch, what I told you about that fuckin’ nigga, huh? I don’t want you fuckin’, lookin’, or talkin’ to him, you fuckin’ hear me? Don’t get outta pocket again, bitch.”
“Daddy, I’m sorry, baby, it won’t happen again,” Sweet choked out. Tears formed in her frightened eyes.
Crown wanted to hit her, but he knew now was not the time. She still had to go make his money, and her bruised and bloody body would have been bad for business.
He let her go and backed away from her, his eyes shooting daggers of disappointment and rage.
“Go make me my fuckin’ money, bitch!” he shouted.
Everyone in the place stared, but it was nothing new to them. Crown was known for attacking and yelling at
his hoes in public—it was his way of showing that he was still in control and not to be fucked with.
He already proved his point, and Cherish and Midnight simply observed from a distance. They both were very familiar with Crown’s wrath and didn’t want that kind of attention on themselves.
Sweet dried her tears and tried to hide her embarrassment by looking for the young man that she was about to fuck in the VIP room. She just wanted to disappear for a moment. Many eyes were still on her, but no one said a word and most just felt sorry for her.
Crown returned to the bar and signaled Angel.
“What you need, boss?” Angel asked.
“Just get me a shot of Hennessy.”
“I got you.” Angel removed the bottle from a shelf at the back of the bar.
YB eyed Crown with irritation from three barstools down. Pussy nigga, he mouthed.
Crown noticed the nasty look aimed his way and turned to face YB. He didn’t fear YB, nor did YB fear Crown. They were like two lions in the joint—kings of their own jungles and feeding off their fierce reputations. There could be only one king of the jungle, though, so it was inevitable that the two would rumble soon.
“Fuck you lookin’ at, nigga!” Crown shouted.
“You like hittin’ on women, try hitting on me, you bitch-ass nigga,” YB retorted.
“Crown, please . . . not here,” Angel pleaded. He had worry in his eyes.
“Angel, shut the fuck up!” Crown growled. If looks could kill, YB would be in trouble.
Rufus sneered at Crown, moving his hand near his concealed gun. All YB had to say was jump, and Rufus would have asked, “How high?”
“Fuck y’all West Philly niggas! You think you can come up in here and disrespect my bitches and me?” Crown hissed.
“You ain’t shit, nigga! I’ll come over there and slap the shit outta you, like you my bitch!” YB yelled.
