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She gazed at Cameron for a short while, hoping she could ignore her phone sounding off in her purse. The ringing stopped briefly, which relieved her since she didn't want to stop fucking him until she came all on his dick. Just as she felt herself reaching her peak, her phone sounded off again. This would serve as the fourth phone call, which let her know whoever was calling needed to speak to her. In frustration, she groaned as she interrupted their rhythm by rising to her feet.

"C'mon! What the fuck you doing?" A tone of annoyance drenched Cameron's words as he eyed her in clear agitation.

"I have to get the phone, Cameron," she snapped at him as she made her way toward her purse. She reached into her bag, extracting the device. The screen lit up with missed calls froman Italian area code, which let Jazzy know that it was Priest who was trying to contact her all this time.

She quickly raked her mind of what he could possibly need at the moment. Once she realized the time, it dawned on her that she missed Britain's arrival, which Priest had been preparing her for since a few days before. "Shit," she cursed as she dropped her phone back into the bag. She quickly scrambled for her undergarments and clothes, leaving Cameron in confusion.

"What the fuck, Jazzy?" Cameron scoffed as he watched her hastily pull up her panties, followed by her jeans.

She offered him no response as she buttoned her jeans before slipping her top back on with ease. She returned to standing tall in her heels before grabbing her bag and exiting the hotel room without another word. She had fucked up, and by the number of phone calls she got from Priest, she knew he was well aware.

She made her way down to the lobby, where she was able to retrieve her car from the valet. Once in the car, she proceeded in the direction of the penthouse.

Priest never really asked for much, but whenever he did ask for a favor, it was in everyone's best interest to follow suit. In this case, all he asked was for Jazzy to serve Britain with a warm welcome upon her landing in New York. He knew Britain would’ve much rather stayed with her father Remy or even at her parents’, Seven and Henderson's, place than his penthouse with solely Jazzy. She wanted to be surrounded by family, but with the current circumstances, he just couldn't risk it. With her living arrangements not going how she had planned, Priest still wanted her to make the best of her trip back home, which was why Jazzy was supposed to be there with open arms. Instead, Britain was welcomed by a huge penthouse that was quiet and empty.

Jazzy shook her head, shaming herself. She had gotten so caught up in her and Cameron's bullshit that she had fumbledthe only thing Priest asked of her. It was definitely a bad look for Britain to show up in the city and not be welcomed by anyone. Jazzy was sure Priest would have some words for her about her lack of reliability when it came to coming through for him.

In under half an hour, Jazzy arrived at the penthouse. Her brows furrowed once she noticed the lack of security guarding the perimeter of the building. She exhaled a heavy groan before turning her car into a parking space. Getting out, she made her way toward the elevators, applying her hand on the scanner and gaining immediate access. She took the lift up, and the door opened to the penthouse. Stepping inside and glancing around, she caught no sight of Britain.

"Fuck," she cursed as she reached into her bag to extract her phone.

Another sigh heaved out of her as she returned one of Priest's missed calls. It was answered in no time without even a greeting. "I asked for one fucking thing, yo!" Priest frustratedly spat.

"I know," Jazzy sighed and face palmed herself. "Did she tell you where she went?"

Priest brows furrowed. "What the fuck you meanwhere she went?! She ain't there?!"

Jazzy pursed her lips, wishing she hadn't said anything since she only made it worse for herself. She began striding toward Priest's old bedroom where Britain would have been residing if she stayed. She applied a light knock before pushing the door open. Sure enough, it was as empty as Priest left it when he set out to Italy.

"No sign of her," Jazzy clarified with a huff of air.

Frustrated, Priest ran his hand down his face. He didn't know who to be more frustrated with: Jazzy since she didn't follow through with what he requested of her, or Britain because she left even after he explained why he wanted her at the penthouse. Priest was having a hard time dealing. He was so used to beinghands-on with everything. Now, with him being in Italy, all he could do was send a text or a phone call. That alone drove him up the wall.

"Man," Priest smacked his lips in disappointment. "‘Preciate you for fucking this up," he slyly let out before ending the call.

BROOKLYN, NEW YORK

Britain drummed her acrylic nails against her thigh. Her nerves had overtaken her, and yet again, she found herself losing all the courage she once had. Glancing down at her hands, she attempted to stop fidgeting. Her face screwed up in distaste at the feeling of her palms being clammy and moist.

"Get it together, Britain," she murmured to herself as she rubbed her palms against the denim material of her jeans.

Glancing out the dark tinted window, she was faced with the sight of her mother and stepfather’s brownstone. She knew she had drifted a long distance from Harlem, where she initially thought she would be staying with Remy after arriving at an empty and silent penthouse in TriBeCa.

Britain had tried to head over to Remy's place. What she didn't know was that the biggest challenge she would have to face would be stepping inside the home and rehashing one of the biggest traumas she had experienced. The last time she was over at her father's home, she had witnessed and endured a lot. The majority of what she had endured was gruesome. She had watched so much of Priest's blood spill out of him while her mother desperately tried keeping him alive with a cheap suture kit and different household items. Despite knowing Priest was alive and well in Italy, the thought of him being so close to death wasn't something she could face at the moment.

It also didn't help that the entire city was under the impression that her fiancé was dead, and she didn't show up for the services tolay him to rest.There was a lot going on, and Britain found herself running to the closest set of people who were not involved in the chaotic life she chose to live with Priest:her parents.

Although Seven was the one who brought Priest back to good health after he had gotten shot, Britain knew her mother didn't know all the ins and outs of his lifestyle. In Britain’s head, her logic made tons of sense when she was fleeing from the very home that Priest almost died in. But now, sitting parked at the curb in front of her mother and father's brownstone, all she could think about was all the reasons why she planned on avoiding her mother while she was in the jet from Italy.

At this point, she felt like she was out of options, and she was beginning to feel like traveling back to The States because of the issues she was having with Priest wasn't the best idea.As she continued to dwell on her thoughts and nerves, she heard a knock on the window. Her eyes widened a bit as the front window rolled down.

"Is there a reason you been parked outside of my house for the past half hour now?" Britain could hear her stepfather confront Cyro while she sat in the back seat.

Knowing Cyro wasn't much of a talker, Britain quickly mustered her courage back up and lowered her window. "Pops, it's me," she called for his attention from the back seat of the darkly wrapped and tinted SUV.

Henderson turned his head in the direction of her voice, surprised to see it was actually his daughter who was in the vehicle instead of someone he had to worry about. "Mocha? What are you doing here?" He made his way over to her with a bit of shock plastering his face. He was dressed in his set of coolgrey scrubs which indicated that he had either just come in from a surgery or was preparing to leave for one.

"I came to visit," Britain enlightened him. "I got a little homesick," she admitted as she pursed her lips.