Page 26 of Anything Necessary for Her (Crenshaw Kings #9)

Using my knuckles to rap against my mama’s bedroom door, I said, “Aye, can I come in and talk to you?”

“About what, Low!” she shouted, making me twist the knob and enter despite her not granting a nigga permission.

Moseying over, I took a seat on the edge of the bed like her, leaving a little bit of space in between us.

“I wanna talk to you about rehab,” I started, getting straight to the fucking point.

“I’m not?—”

“You got to.”

“I don’t have to do a got damn thing! I’m your mother!

You don’t tell me what the fuck to do!” She scoffed, sizing me up and shaking her head as if I had lost my mind.

Filing her nails, she added with an evil laugh, “You just wait until I tell Jonas what you’re trying to do.

He’s gonna get your ass straight. You need to start respecting him as a father figure anyway. ”

I chuckled mirthlessly as I turned away from her, shaking my head.

Ignoring her father figure comment because I wouldn’t even dignify that shit with a response, I informed, “Jonas won’t be getting shit straight ever again. Trust me.”

“What?” She stopped filing her nails to look over at me. “What the fuck are you talking about!” She shot up from the bed.

“You ain’t that fucking drunk. You know what it mean. When the last time you heard from that nigga? He don’t usually ghost you this quickly, right?” I ascended as well, dwarfing her frail frame that carried a permanent stench of liquor.

“I fucking hate you!” she roared, taking off on me.

When I blocked all her hits, she grabbed her heavy ass lampshade, yanking it from the socket in the wall and charged me. I attempted to block that shit as well, but the heaviness of it made me bump into her dresser and the lamp shatter against my arm.

She quickly picked up a shard and tried to jam it into my side. Gripping her wrists, I spoke through gritted teeth, “Either you go to fucking rehab or I’m gon’ send you some place you can be with that fuck nigga Jonas for good.”

I meant every word, and I could tell she knew it as horror filled her eyes, causing her to go rigid in my hold.

“You heartless piece of shit! You would kill your own mother?” she raged, jutting the shard in her hand against my cheek and drawing blood.

I reacted too quickly, backhanding her ass and sending her flying onto the bed while howling and crying.

“What the fuck is going on in here?” Wyatt rushed in with Waverley on his heels.

“Mama!” My baby sister rushed to her side as our mother sobbed hysterically, falling to the floor.

“He hit me! You are just like your fucking father!” she accused.

“Fuck you hit her for, nigga?” Wyatt spat, looking me up and down as if he were wondering where his real brother had gone.

Dabbing the blood trickling down my cheek as I watched my siblings cuddle up beside our mama on the floor, consoling her, I felt like pure shit.

Only a trash ass nigga would backhand his own fucking mother.

Unable to defend myself because there was no defense, I backed away and eventually left the room.

Fixing the abrasion on my face in the bathroom while trying my best to tune out my mama going off, screaming in emotional and physical pain while Waverley cried and Wyatt did his best to succor her, I hurried up and exited the house altogether.

As soon as I climbed into my car, lighting a blunt, Free’s name flashed across my screen.

“What’s good? Can’t be bad if you calling my personal cell,” I answered, taking a deep pull on the pungent weed.

“Exactly. Let’s be out tonight, my nigga. Jere, Taye, everybody coming out. We gotta celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?” I frowned, not about to tell him I was in the total fucking opposite mood to celebrate. Even Free would look down on a nigga who’d hit his own mother in the face.

“That we young, black, and rich, nigga! What else!” he hollered, pulling a slight chuckle out of me as I expelled smoke.

“Aight,” I conceded. I needed to take my mind off tonight, and watching the homies get into some shit while indulging in my own shit was always the perfect remedy. “Send me the address and shit.”

“Bet.” He hung up.

I went back inside first to freshen up with a shower, before brushing, flossing, and rinsing with mouthwash.

I wasn’t the type of nigga to dress up, so I just threw on some discreet dark Loewe jeans, a long black T-shirt with a wife beater under, Chuck Taylors, then a zip up jacket.

After adding on my Richard Mille and my chain then cologne, I headed out, ignoring the text Banks had sent my way.

She was the last person a nigga wanted to speak to.

I felt filthy as fuck for what I’d done, and being around her would only make me feel worse.

I felt like I was cosplaying to be the nigga she needed when it wasn’t really me.

I knew the day would come where she would see past that shit and want nothing to do with a nigga.

And getting dissed by Banks would fuck me up for real.

I pulled up to the parking lot of the club in Hollywood, shaking my head at the short Mexican nigga requesting twenty fucking dollars to park. I paid it, letting him know I didn’t wanna be blocked in, to which he agreed, demeanor fearful of me without him expressing it verbally.

I didn’t have to wait in line, being the nigga that I was, so after slapping hands with the big thirsty nigga guarding the door, I swaggered inside in attempt to locate my people.

“Oh shit! This nigga got the leather on!” Free shouted in reference to my motorcycle jacket.

“Hoodie didn’t go with this.” I shrugged, slapping hands with the other niggas on my team and scoping the women already littering the area.

“You the boss, huh?” One girl skated up to me as I sat on the velvet couch, damn near salivating at drinking whiskey straight to complement my high. “I heard him call you that.” She pointed to Taye.

“That’s me,” I stated dryly, putting the glass to my lips and gulping as I bobbed my head to “Like That” by Future.

It was thick tonight, reminding me that it was a Saturday.

“You wanna dance?” the girl inquired, cozying up to a nigga and smiling salaciously.

“I don’t dance, but you can do you,” I let her know.

She stood promptly before positioning herself in my lap to grind against my dick. She was pretty, but her fat ass was prettier, and I was stunned by the fact that my dick was still soft. When Banks sat in my lap minus the grinding, I would be hard enough to be used as a human diving board.

Old girl continued to shake and grind her ass against me, looking back every now and again to see if I liked her moves, but I gave her nothing.

Another girl came closer, sitting next to me and whispering in my ear, “I see you’re not fazed. I can do a better job.”

I only smirked, nudging the one dancing on me out of the way so I could fill my glass back up with liquor. She took her seat back next to me, her and the other bitch rubbing on a nigga as I took the glass of alcohol to the face, feeling good as fuck.

My eyes scanned the club as I drank a third glass, poured by the bitch to my right, before they landed on Banks along with two other girls. She was laughing until she saw me and watched for a bit. Our eyes were locked, unwavering the whole time.

Eventually, she stepped down onto the main floor to come around with her brown-skinned homegirl following behind. I couldn’t read her face, so I didn’t know what she was gonna say as she came over, but I watched the whole time.

“Aye, nah, don’t put ya fucking mouth on me.” I reprimanded the thirsty bitch that was once dancing on me when she licked my neck.

She nodded shamefully before dropping onto her knees before me just as Banks came to the entrance of the VIP.

“We should leave,” the girl sitting on my right suggested.

“Let’s do that.” I nodded, wanting to get the fuck out of here and wanting Banks to understand the type of nigga she was gunning for.

Like with Rue, I had to show her ass the hard way that as badly as she wanted me and I wanted her, I was bad for her health.

Breaking up with Rue hadn’t done the trick, so I had a threesome with her best friend, Koi, who’d been throwing the pussy at me since I met Rue, and a bitch I had her pick out at the club. After that shit, Rue stopped wanting me.

So this same shit would apply for Banks, and judging by the look on her face as I started toward the exit on the other side with the two women trailing me, I knew my plan had worked.

“Where is your car?” one asked as soon as the wind outside whipped around us.

“I’m taking you to it,” I somewhat slurred, feeling tipsy as fuck and crossfaded. I was annoyed, too, not interested, for real, in fucking on these hos, but I would start feeling it in a bit, I was sure.

They giggled infuriatingly as I led them to my whip, hopping in without opening their doors. Bitches like them didn’t give a fuck, and neither did I.

They chatted nastily to a nigga the entire time I drove to the nearest hotel, and after checking in and getting up to the room, both immediately began stripping for a nigga as I watched, taking the liquor in the room to the face.

On the low, I checked my phone to see if Banks had called or texted, lighting my ass up, but nothing of the sort had happened. Apparently, what I’d done was successful. Though I wanted this, seeing that Banks wasn’t blowing me up or asking for an explanation frightened me.

As both women dropped to their knees to suck my dick, I realized I still wasn’t hard and wasn’t going to be for the night. I wished I could’ve said I didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with me, but I knew exactly what it was, even in my inebriated state.

I hadn’t given a fuck about Rue when I’d executed the ultimate betrayal. But I was too far gone for Banks for this same old shit to work.

“Fuck,” I mumbled as I lay there, going deaf to both ladies complaining and asking me what the fuck was wrong.