Page 2 of The Perfect Verse
Once settled into the seat, she willed herself to move forward, but anxiety had a hold on her. She’d come so close but wasstill so far away. She unconsciously patted her pockets, wishing she had something to smoke. She may have discarded the taste of alcohol from her palate, but the potent herb from the earth managed to quiet the beast inside of her.
“Fuck it,” she muttered, then lifted her eyes to the sky. “You said you’d never leave me or forsake me. Well, I’ma need you to show up for real.”
She lifted that same cross and pressed it against her lips, tapping into her faith. She wanted to be free, even if the same nigga she tried to kill was doting her old bitch on his arm.
“Let’s see how this shit goes.”
Soon, the sound of music bumping from behind stole her attention, causing her to quickly look over her shoulder. She kissed her teeth at the sight of the metallic-blue Grand Cherokee Jeep that eased up next to her. It was Scooter, Donovan’s cousin.
She couldn’t stand him, even though she had no reason not to. Maybe that was what bothered her. She wanted to hate him, yet the day in court, when the charges were dismissed, he was the only one on Donovan’s side who greeted her with a tip of his hat.
“Well, if it ain’t bad ass Kaleela Bradshaw.”
She kissed her teeth as a broad smile stretched across his face when he killed the engine and made his way to her. He smelled and looked good, too, clad in a simple black T-shirt, black jeans, and black and red Retros. His henna skin was littered with tattoos as he slid one hand over his deeply waved hair. She wanted to knock that fucking smug off his face.
“Thought you were about to bitch up when you cancelled yesterday.”
“Bitch up? I told you something came up. Do I look like a nigga can put fear in my heart?”
The “something” that came up, though, was her nerves. They had her hurling over the toilet so much it reminded her of whenshe went cold turkey, detoxing from liquor and pills. It was also those same nerves that had her trigger finger itching, her nine-millimeter tucked within inches of her ankle strap.
“Naw,” he drawled, as he stood and hovered over her. “Quite the opposite. You know that. Shit, we all do.”
His eyes skated down as he took her in. Behind that scowl, he saw the beauty that many may have overlooked due to her hardened demeanor. They’d spent so much time recalling stories about how she pistol-whipped niggas or spent twenty grand a night at the strip club, from strippers to buying bottles, they forgot to see that underneath all of that was a woman—all woman, from her smooth, butterscotch skin, high cheekbones, slender nose, and full lips that pouted as she clenched her fists.
She shifted in her chair once more, wondering if she’d made a mistake. He issued a lazy grin, cradling a toothpick he twirled with his index and thumb as he studied her.
“That shit’s still festering, I see, but it’s cool. All that matters is that you came… for more reasons than one, I hope.”
“I came for what I came for.” She huffed and flicked her hand, growing impatient, partly because of how she reacted to his presence. She may have liked pussy, but a blind man could see the pretty boy in him from his dreamy, coffee-colored eyes and long eyelashes women paid for. Most would have sucked his dick right there in the parking lot.
It didn’t matter, though. He was out of her league, and she was definitely nowhere near his. That, and they came from two different worlds. No need to think beyond that since it could have been a trap.
“Yeah, okay.”
He winked before he strolled in front of her, waving her on to follow him. Crazily, she’d fallen on his radar since the first time Chaney snuck by the studio to see his cousin. At first, it was to gather more information, but over time, he knew why. Sheintrigued him, a mysterious puzzle, one he wanted to figure out and would if his cousin would play nice. The past year had been good to them music-wise, and it could only get better.
“Bossy as fuck,” she grumbled. Her wheels were heard against the gravel, causing him to smile.
With a turn of the knob before he pushed the door open, loud music, laughter, and smoke greeted them. The usual was there–Lanky, another aspiring rapper, their homeboys, Gucci and Speedy, and the man she came to see—Donovan, also known as Dread Man.
“Go ahead. Nigga over there, not here.”
She gulped, clutching each wheel of her wheelchair tightly. She still had heart, but heart or not, she was in the enemy’s camp. If the shoe were on the other foot, she’d bleed a bitch if he shot at her and missed. Scooter saw her hesitance, leaning in closer. He’d never allow some shit to happen to her, not on his watch.
“Hey, ain’t no motherfucker in here on nothing but what you’re on. State your case, and if the nigga don’t accept, fuck him. Just know I’ll be right here with you the entire time.”
“Okay,” she pushed out, her voice shaky as sweat clothed her upper lip. He couldn’t believe the big bad wolf, Kaleela “K Smooth” Bradshaw, was nervous. It was cool, though. That meant she was more than what the streets shaped. For that, he was proud of her for being willing and vulnerable, as he cleared his throat.
“You ready?”
“Yeah, let me get this shit over with.”
“Yo, Dread Man!” he called out, cupping his mouth with both hands. “We got company! All you other motherfuckers that don’t need to be here can get the fuck out.”
Chapter 2
Verse Two
