Page 245 of Kentrell

Felt less engineered.

Clearer.

Perfect for a strip club.

Wani posted near the bar like he owned the air in the room. Flanked by Wave—both of ’em already talking shit—loud, animated, the way they always got once the liquor started hitting early.

Two of Wani’s Angels were draped on him like accessories.

One bent over in front of him, slow-rolling her ass in lazy circles like she had all the time in the world… like she wanted to start a problem and dared anybody to stop her.

The other had her arms looped loose around his neck, chest pressed to his back, lips dragging along his skin like he was some hood-born deity she prayed to nightly.

I shook my head at the whole scene.

At how Wave didn’t even flinch… like this was just another day at the office.

At how much Wani—sitting there, cocky as hell, getting loved on like a king among men—looked exactly like my daddy in that moment.

My jaw clenched before I could stop it.

The audacity of my mind to even bring him back like that… like he hadn’t already done enough damage.

Before I could turn away or shake the thought loose, Wave spotted me first.

Lifted his drink like a salute, chin jutted with that lazy-ass grin that made people think he was just here for a good time.

Anybody who didn’t know him would miss the way his eyes narrowed—just a fraction—already scoping shit out, reading the room, knowing I didn’t come out here for laughs.

Wani noticed next.

Didn’t even pause what he was saying—just locked eyes with me over the rim of his glass, lifted it in a slow, almost sarcastic toast, then tilted his head toward the bar likeget over here.

I moved through the bodies between us, the bass thumping under my feet with every step.

The closer I got, the heavier the air felt.

That kind of weight that sat right behind your shoulder blades… a slow press… just enough to remind you where you were and who you were dealing with.

Wave was the first to speak when I pulled up.

“Damn, Trell… took you long enough,” he joked, dapping me up—the weight behind his grip saying everything his smile didn’t.

Wani’s attention flickered down to my fit, scanning me head to toe like I walked in here with blood on my shirt.

“You straight?” he asked low, still leaning against the bar like he wasn’t fully focused—but I knew better.

“Yeah. You?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Just downed the rest of his drink, shoved the empty glass at the bartender without looking, then motioned for Wave and me to follow.

“Aye, Juju! Hold it down,” he called back over his shoulder, already cutting through the crowd.

The two Angels scrambled behind him like loyal puppies until he waved them off mid-stride.

We pushed through the velvet-draped walkway behind the DJ booth… past the bouncers posted at the far door like they were guarding a vault.

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