Page 244 of Kentrell

“If it’s good—” she started to add.

“Then it’s nasty. Fuck.” I dragged a hand down my face, already predicting the L I was about to take. I hated onions. Couldn’t stand ‘em.

“No! See…” Zoe giggled, biting her lip like she knew she was playing with fire. “I should’ve never told you.”

“Too late. Now I got a reason to go against that shit,” I teased, grinning when she laughed again.

“I’ma call you after this meeting.”

“Okay, bae… love you.”

“Aight. Bye.”

I ended the call, still shaking my head as I climbed out the truck and made my way across the lot toward the entrance of The Velvet Room.

Monty was leaned back outside, cakin’ hard with one of the strippers. A lil Puerto Rican joint with a flag tatted on her shoulder, blonde hair curled down her back, thick-ass lashes and enough piercings to set off every metal detector in the county—ears, nose, lip, cheeks… all hit.

“Damn… fine as hell,” she moaned when she spotted me, dragging her words like she was already halfway undressed in her mind.

Monty’s whole face crumpled into a scowl.

He straightened up quick, realizing who I was, and wiped the look off before it could stick.

“Aye, wussup, Kentrell.” He stepped aside, snatching her by the arm like she was some loose bag he’d almost forgotten.

“Monty! What the fuck?” she snapped, her accent leaking through, full Spanish Harlem attitude now.

No sooner had the thought crossed my mind, she launched into a full string of Spanish I didn’t bother trying to decode.

“Man… chill out,” Monty hissed, jerking her a little closer. “That’s Bossman brother.”

“Well don’t fucking yank on me like I ain’t got legs, bro! I can walk on my own!”

I shook my head at the whole dumbass back and forth and kept moving.

Through the next set of doors.

And just like clockwork…

That smell hit me.

Stale Hennessy… and ambition.

Velvet curtains framing the walls. Low lights casting long shadows. Smoke curling up to the ceiling, making everything hazy as hell.

The kind of spot where egos clashed under color-changing lights… where deals lived or died depending on what set you repped… and how far you were willing to go to prove it.

Just Like Thatboomed through the speakers, sweeping the room in waves.

One side… then the next.

Call and response.

That sultry, bass-heavy, bedroom-certified anthem that made every head nod on instinct.

The deeper I pushed through the crowd, weaving past tables, couches, and too many hood celebrities with more chains than sense… the more that reverb faded.

The sound softened.

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