Page 54 of Anything Necessary for Her (Crenshaw Kings #9)

“No, Peep. I don’t want you wrapped up in this shit in case they try to pin it on me, or it goes left.

Hell nah.” Placing my hands on her hips, I continued.

“His body is never gonna be found, and the injuries I sustained have since healed. So I ain’t too worried about getting arrested or convicted, but in case they take it to trial or some shit, I don’t want you dragged into that.

He a mayor’s son which means media coverage.

You got a whole ballet career ahead of you, and I don’t want this being a stain on ya reputation, even if it goes nowhere. ”

“But you did this for me. I don’t feel right?—”

“No, Peep. I got it.” I sat up, hugging her body as she lazily hung her arms around my neck. “I’ll do anything necessary to keep you safe and keep you in the same condition I got you in, just like ya pops advised me to.”

“I wanna do the same.”

I smirked before brushing my lips against her supple ones.

“I appreciate that shit more than you know, but you improved my condition, Peep. You willing to help a nigga out is more than enough, but I don’t need nor want you to actually do it. You understand? If you do anything to help me, I won’t ever forgive you.”

Her face fell at my words while I waited for her to absorb them muthafuckas and accede to them.

“Okay,” she finally replied, begrudgingly, her face looking as if she tasted something foul.

“Good.” I kissed her again.

I parked outside of the St. Thomas’ residence, feeling a bit on edge. I’d been to this spot hundreds of fucking times, never feeling any type of way, but today was different.

Lisara and Prime were cool, cordial, and welcoming when I was their son’s protege, but I knew shit would be very different coming in as their only and beloved daughter’s boyfriend.

“I’m starving.” Banks beamed as I assisted her from the whip.

“Yeah.” I nodded, shutting my passenger door and guiding her up the front.

“Relax. You have me and my mama on your side. And my dad is down the middle. He doesn’t dislike you, but he doesn’t like you yet.

” She nudged me, her non-verbal signal that she wanted a kiss, so I obliged.

“You look handsome, but that’s a given.” She rolled her eyes playfully, referencing her constant joke that I was too fine to dress up.

I’d dug through my closet for the nicest shit I could locate, which resulted in this polo styled Prada shirt in blue, and dark Amiri jeans.

I wore my navy blue Chuck Taylors, like usual, pairing the shit with my chain, Audemars Piguet, and a bracelet.

I kept a fresh haircut, and my beard was always kempt, so my outfit had been the only obstacle of the night.

“Hey!” Lisara answered, looking like an older version of her daughter. Her nose and eye shape were different, though, because Banks had inherited those features from her pops.

“Hi, Ma.” Banks smiled, embracing her mother before slipping past her.

“For you.” I reached out the yellow roses for Lisara since Banks had told me she liked them.

“Oh my gosh!” Lisara brightened, taking them.

“You already fucking up.” Prime’s voice called from afar, making me look past his wife to see him holding Banks into his side.

“Shut up, Chianti.” Lisara hugged me. “This was sweet.”

“I know, and before y’all ask, no I didn’t tell him to do that. He asked if you liked flowers, I told him yes and what kind, but nothing more,” Banks explained, making her mother cheese wider and her father shrug his eyebrows.

“Mr. St. Thomas.” I shook his hand.

“Nice to see you again, Low.” He obliged my handshake.

“Okay, the chef is ready for us, so let’s go to the dining room so they’ll know we’re ready,” Lisara announced, dropping the flowers into the glass vase nearby, fluffing them out as she talked. She mumbled something about getting ice water for them while we followed her directions.

“I thought you were cooking, Ma?” Banks quizzed as she descended into the chair I’d pulled out for her in the dining room.

“I was, but then I said I didn’t feel like it. I cooked big ass meals for years and still do sometimes. I realize I don’t wanna cook as much anymore,” she said.

“And she don’t have to do shit she don’t want to no more.” Prime pushed her chair in, smiling before he pecked her.

“I know that’s right.” Banks snapped her fingers in support.

“Banks told me you like steak, so that’s what we’re having, Low, as well as some lobster, shrimp, or chicken. Your choice,” Lisara said to me.

“Can I have all four?” I grinned, making the table chuckle . . . well, the table minus Prime.

“Of course!” Lisara touched my hand briefly, making Prime subtly jerk his neck back and give her a look.

I grinned but kept my face down so no one would see. His reaction was hilarious.

“Don’t even start. How many times did I have to overhear you call Presley and Anastazia beautiful?” She lifted a brow.

“For my sons. I wasn’t talking about for me.” He finally gave me some eye contact, and I realized it was because he wanted an ally. He was on his own though. “All my daughters-in-law are beautiful.”

“They are, but I’m talking about you mentioning them several times, Chianti.”

He paused, Banks and I chuckling because it was clear he had no rebuttal.

“Point is, you the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Even till this day.” He smirked.

“Good answer, Daddy.” Banks nodded as the chefs brought in champagne and some type of salad appetizer with strawberries, pecans, and what appeared to be mozzarella cheese balls.

“Good and true answer.” He lifted Lisara’s hand to kiss, and she rotated her eyes jokingly.

We put in our orders, Prime and I getting the steak, chicken, lobster, and shrimp, while Banks and her mother opted for the steak and lobster only.

I polished off the salad that though it didn’t look like it had any dressing, was clearly doused in some type of sweet shit that made it pretty good. Prime brought out a bottle of whiskey, surprisingly offering me a glass after realizing I was barely drinking the champagne on the table.

“So, Low, I feel like I know you but not really. You’ve come over so many times over the years, but we barely talked. How did you and Banks even come back in contact?” Lisara put her flute to her lips.

“She teaches the dance class my baby sister Waverley goes to,” I replied, opting to leave out the fact that we bonded in Vegas over a dead body prior to that.

“Ohh, you have a little sister. Any other siblings?”

“Younger brother named Wyatt.” I nodded, sipping my liquor because I knew we were veering toward parent territory.

“Yeah, his brother was a little reckless, so I got him a job at Shakur’s diner, and he helps out a couple times a week at Stazi’s center,” Banks chimed in, saving me a bit.

“Oh, okay. A lot of times these bad teens need something to do. Khari was like that, which was why I had to tell him he had to take rapping serious or get a job. Every time he left that damn house I wanted to know if he was clocking in or recording. I’m sure he lied sometimes, but I was on his ass. ”

“That’s probably why he actually made it,” I said, and she smiled, nodding. “Banks got that same fire in her ’cause she scared my bro straight.”

Lisara and even Prime laughed at that, landing their eyes on their daughter in amusement as she shrugged playfully while batting her lashes.

“In my defense, he tried to get buck with me, so I had to check his young self.” She tossed her hair back over her shoulder.

We chatted some more, Prime rarely if ever interjecting. He mainly stared me down unless he was eating or drinking.

Then after dessert, he asked, “You smoke cigars, young nigga?”

“I can.” I rose like he had.

“Aight. I’ll bring him back in a bit,” he told Banks, waving for me to follow him out of the dining room.

We exited, then went down a long ass hall, down a spiral staircase, and then entered into a semi dark room with a balcony. The shit was fly, looking like a cigar lounge you’d find out in the city somewhere, but the shit was right in his damn house.

Prime gestured for me to have a seat in one of the plush chairs beside him before opening a wooden case filled with cigars.

Taking one, I waited for him to hand over the lighter so I could light my own.

I was happy he did that because I didn’t really care for letting another nigga light some shit I was smoking, and I would’ve hated to offend Banks’s pops.

We took some puffs in silence, both having a clear view through the double glass doors that outlooked over his balcony. His backyard was vast, which I already knew, but the mountain view from here made sense as to why the chairs were positioned here and why this room was in this location.

“You had a bad scar last time I seen you.” He pointed under his own eye, exactly where mine was. “How that happen?”

“What you think, a nigga got the best of me?” I smirked.

“I hope not. That’s why I’m asking. I can’t hand my daughter off to a nigga that can’t fight.”

“I think you know that ain’t the case, Mr. St. Thomas,” I assured him, and he nodded, awaiting my explanation still. “My mother. She got mad at me because I told her she would have to go to rehab. She an alcoholic.”

“For how long?”

“Since almost forever. Last time I remember her not being a drunk was when I was in elementary school. But ever since I was ten, she been an on-and-off alcoholic. She had moments where she’d sober up for like half a year straight, but once my baby sister turned three, it’s been consistent. It’s a shock she ain’t dead yet.”

Prime nodded, and when I glanced his way, his lids were low as he held the cigar between his lips.

“If she been getting sauced since you was a fucking kid, how was you getting by? Where ya pops?”