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“I didn’t say I worked for the Kings. Or that I wanted to. I said call me if he has signs of infection.” Jay hurled a look at me that said she was going to curse me out when we were alone. “I have to get back to work. I’m not even supposed to be out here.” Another glare. “I’ll see you later, Juju. Don’t call me again.”
“Thanks, love you.” I grinned, waving.
“She can’t call you, but can I?” Pretty Boy asked following Jay out of the room. Truck followed behind them, shaking his head. King and I looked at each other and I groaned.
“He wants to fuck my sister.”
“Can you blame him? She’s fine.” He watched my reaction with a smirk but I didn’t give in to what I knew he wanted to see from me.
“You can try to fuck her but I don’t think she likes guys on the run from the cops.”
“And you do?” He asked, looking down at me.
“I might. Guess I have a thing for stupid men or maybe I just like fucking stupid men. I can’t decide yet.”
“I’m having a similar problem, I can’t decide if I like fucking annoying ass women,” King countered.
“Whatever, can we go kill this motherfucker? I’m tired.” I stretched my hands above my head.
“We could have been back by now if you never shot Sumo. Hot head ass.”
“I know you’re not talking.” We fussed our way into the living room where I saw Sumo laid out on the couch on his way to sleep. His arm was in a sling and wrapped expertly in white gauze. He looked like hell.
“You need to change. You’re not doing this dressed like that,” King said, loading his gun with a clip.
“Agreed,” Truck said with a sure nod.
“Et Tu, Truck?” I scoffed.
“Yeah, so get your crazy ass back there and change into something,” Pretty Boy fussed. I was being outnumbered by three men. I grunted and tossed my hands in the air. “Grab something from King’s room.”
“Are you saying I can’t borrow your clothes, Pretty Boy?” I asked.
“That’s exactly what the hell I’m saying. I know exactly where your body has been. I’m close enough to King.”
“Wow,” I laughed, tossing the sound to the ceiling. I did dress in something from King’s closet. Strangely enough, we had the same style. None of his pants fit me, but I grabbed a pair of his gray sweats with a drawstring and folded the waistband down. It would do. I put on one of his vintage Michael Jackson concert t-shirts that said; BAD TOUR ’88 in spray-painted red letters with a black and white picture of Jheri curl Michael in the background. I knotted it above my navel and let one of my shoulders peek out from the slightly too big collar. I tightened my bun and looked at myself in the mirror.
Damn.
I made everything look good.
“Okay, let’s do this shit.” I walked into the living room and King stared at me for a few quiet beats.
“Don’t tie my shirt in a knot,” he said, eyeing me.
“If you think I look good, just say so.” I held out my arms so he could get a good look at how fine I was in his clothes.
“Let’s go,” he sighed, handing me a gun and a black backpack. “Wear that. There’s a mask and gloves in there and extra ammo.”
“Oh god, not that stupid fucking lion mask,” I said, unzipping the backpack.
“Payback, baby,” King grinned flashing that goddamn perfect smile.
“Fuck. You.” A groan rolled from my mouth. He knew I hated that damn mask.
“Wear it or lose the vote, Ju. I’m not playing.”
“Am I going up for a vote already?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow up.
