Page 14 of A Kingpin’s Weakness

Seth

It was Southside’s birthday, and in true Southside fashion, he wanted to turn the city the fuck up.

So, Rich and I made sure that happened for our boy.

We pulled up to G-Spot, a local club that turned into a damn zoo every Saturday night. Bottles, bad decisions, and bass so loud it shook your chest before you even made it inside.

S3 was with his moms tonight. I should’ve been chillin’. But instead of enjoying the night, my mind was on one thing and one thing only.

Stormi.

Fine ass, hardheaded ass, emotionally unavailable Stormi.

She was avoiding me. I wasn’t dumb. I felt that shit.

She hadn’t let me take her out yet, hadn’t told me a damn thing about what Ronnie said to her that day at the hospital.

And even though I knew that old nigga didn’t stand a chance in hell with her, I still couldn’t let it slide.

Not when he looked at her like she was already his.

That shit didn’t sit right with me.

As we moved through the crowd, Rich clapped me on the shoulder.

“Nigga, all these fine-ass bitches in here tonight, and your head in the clouds,” he said, grinning like the devil as we walked up to the section we rented out for Southside’s birthday.

I smirked. “Your head gon’ be between the washer and dryer if you keep playing with Lia.”

“You niggas think Lia so sweet and innocent,” Rich said, laughing. “She the one told me to bring one of these bitches home so we both could have some fun.”

“Yeah. Okay.” I gave him the look. “You say that now till she slice your tires and leave your PlayStation floating in the tub.”

“Whatever, man. You need a threesome in your life. Chill you out a little.”

“I don’t need two women. Just one right one.”

Rich raised a brow. “Let me guess, Stormi that right one ?”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the truth was already written all over my face. “Still deciding. Shortie playing games, ignoring a nigga.”

We stepped past security and walked into the section like we owned it.

“Happy born day, my nigga,” I said, dapping up Southside.

He was already in rare form grinning ear to ear with a blunt hanging from his lip and a Patron bottle in hand.

The section was packed with some of Southside’s boys and a few wild-ass women who came for the drinks and attention.

We blended right in. The bottle girls kept coming, lining up D’USSé, Patron, Casamigos…

whatever we asked for. I grabbed a bottle of D’USSé and sipped it straight from the neck. No chaser. No pause.

Southside dropped down in the seat next to me, his arm wrapped around some girl with a red wig and fishnets.

He tipped the Patron bottle back and poured it right into her mouth. “Yeah, let me see how you swallow,” he said, not letting up. The girl gulped it down like her life depended on it, her eyes rolling to the back of her head.

“That’s wild,” I muttered, watching but not really watching. My mind drifted again.

Stormi. Why the hell was she running from me?

Why’d she let Ronnie get close enough to even have a damn conversation?

I didn’t like feeling this unsure, not about her.

Not when every part of me was already decided.

She just had to catch up. And she would.

Because I wasn’t the type to chase, but I damn sure wasn’t the type to be left wondering either.

“Look at your girl right there. She ain’t ignoring that nigga,” Rich said, elbowing me.

I turned toward the bar, following his line of sight and there she was.

Stormi. Rockin’ a short white dress that showed off every curve like she knew what she was doing.

Thick. Glowing. And standing way too close to some corny-ass nigga who clearly didn’t know his place.

His hand was sittin’ on the small of her back like it belonged there, and he was leaned in whispering something in her ear.

She laughed loud. What the fuck? I know damn well that dude ain’t say anything that funny. She laughing like he Marlon Wayans funny. Not even close. I dropped the bottle of D’usse on the table and stood up.

“Don’t kill nobody!” Rich called out behind me.

Too late for that. Stormi was about to get every dude in this bitch shot if they even looked at her the wrong way. I walked over, calm but heated. Straight through the crowd, ignoring the music, the lights, everything. My eyes were locked on them.

“Homie,” I said when I reached them, “you like your hand?”

“Huh?” he asked trying to hear me over the music.

“I said you like your fucking hand?” this time annoyed that I had to repeat myself on some shit I shouldn’t have even been asking.

The guy looked confused, probably drunk. I didn’t care.

“Move your hand off her ass before you lose it.”

“Seth, really?” Stormi snapped, her voice tight with irritation.

“I mean the lady doesn’t mind,” buddy said, smirking like he knew something.

Still hadn’t moved. Alright. Bet. I grabbed his wrist and pressed his hand down flat against the bar.

“Aye, man” he started, but the words died in his throat the moment he saw me pull my gun.

“Seth!” Stormi yelled.

“’Scuse me,” I told the bartender like we were having a casual convo.

Then I pulled the trigger. One shot. Right through his hand. The whole club froze. Music cut. Screams popped off. Bodies jumped. But I ain’t flinch. I lifted my hand and motioned to Southside’s security. “Get this nigga the fuck outta here.”

Then I picked up the shot glass that had to be his and tossed it back like nothing just happened.

“DJ, cut that music back on. Let’s party.” The DJ ain’t miss a beat. “Happy birthday to Southside! Y’all, please don’t piss Seth off tonight!”

The crowd fell right back into the vibe like the last sixty seconds didn’t even exist.

Stormi? She was fuming.

“Have you lost your mind, Seth?”

“No,” I said, cool as ever. “But you clearly have. What the fuck you doin’ lettin' dudes touch you like that?”

“Seth, I’m grown and single . ”

“Oh, okay. Trina.” I grabbed her hand and started pulling her toward the section.

“Wait,” she said, trying to twist out my grip. “I came with Ari and her friends.”

“Then tell them to come on.”

Stormi turned around and waved Ari down, who’d been fake acting like she wasn’t watching everything. Her and three of her friends trailed behind us as I led Stormi back through the crowd.

Once inside the section, I didn’t waste time. I pulled her into the far corner with me. Because yeah, we were definitely about to talk.

"You look good as fuck tonight," I told Stormi, leaning back against the velvet of the club couch as my eyes took in every inch of her.

The dim lighting bounced off her mocha-caramel skin, giving her this glow that made it hard to look away. She had on makeup tonight. It was a light beat, subtle… but honestly, she didn’t need it. Stormi always looked like something out of a dream.

Her hair wasn’t natural and curly like usual. She had on a sleek, straight black wig parted down the middle, falling all the way down her back past her waist, kissing the top of her ass.

And her ass? That white dress she had on was holding on for dear life, hugging every curve, every dip.

Her breasts sat up like they had their own attitude, round and proud, just begging for my hands.

I could’ve devoured her right here in the middle of the club if it wasn’t for the fact I’d have to shoot every man who dared to look.

"Good enough to kill for, huh?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow with that same smart-ass tone she always used when she knew she had me.

"Stormi, the nigga not gon’ die from being shot in the hand."

"And if he does?"

"Then he a weak-ass nigga." I shrugged.

She blinked at me like she couldn’t believe I was serious. I was.

"You really can’t be serious."

"You got time to come to the club and talk to niggas, but you still can’t give me one date?" I asked, eyes locked on hers.

"Ari invited me last minute."

"But you ain’t had time to text back either?"

She rolled her eyes.

"What was that conversation between you and Ronnie?" I asked. I’d let it slide long enough.

“Seth, I’m really not trying to talk about that right now.”

Of course she wasn’t.

"What you drinking on?" I asked instead, signaling the waitress to come over.

“Two bottles of Patron and one of Henny,” I told her without breaking eye contact with Stormi. The waitress smiled too damn much. Stormi noticed.

"Should I shoot her in the eye since she couldn’t keep her eyes off you?"

"You want my gun?"

Stormi laughed and shook her head. “I can’t with you.”

“Shit, you asked. I know damn well you don’t got nothin’ in that small-ass purse but lip gloss and attitude.”

Before she could answer, Ari walked over and interrupted like she’d been waiting for the perfect moment.

“Let me borrow her for a moment,” she said, already pulling Stormi away.

I watched her go, eyes trailing the sway of her hips in that tight-ass dress. I had plans for that body, she just ain’t know it yet.

“The hand, though?” Rich came over and dropped into the seat next to me. “What happened to the head? You getting soft on me?”

“Fuck you, nigga.”

“Stormi got this man’s head gone,” Southside added, laughing as he slid over to join us. “Ain’t never seen Seth ready to risk it all over no chick before.”

I ignored them. The waitress came back with the bottles, and I pointed her toward Stormi. She was across the section, already taking back-to-back shots with one of Ari’s friends and singing Rod Wave like she wrote the damn song herself.

I leaned back and sipped my D’ussé, eyes still on her.

Yeah.

I needed all my attention tonight. Stormi was playing with fire, she just didn’t know who was holding the match.

“Yo, I’m part of this team, let me the fuck in!”

We all turned toward security at the sound of Ronnie’s voice barking across the velvet ropes like this was 2002 and he was still somebody.

“Southside, tell this nigga,” I said with a smirk.

“That’s your friend,” Southside replied, leaning back with a bottle in his lap.