Page 61 of Anything Necessary for Her (Crenshaw Kings #9)

“You snitch and you dead, nigga. Let one of these punk ass detectives make you think they got yo’ back and beguile you into believing they gon’ keep you safe, and that they can arrest a nigga, you gon’ lose ya fucking life.

Before that, though, I’m gon’ kill ya mama in front of you.

” I kicked his body as he whined, bobbing his head to say he agreed.

“Banks is mine, and I’ll run through LA like my last name is Bundy on any nigga thinking he can percolate then ruin what the fuck we got.

I suggest you heal, forget about her in the meantime, then use that lil degree you got and get you a desk job, fam.

Marry you a bitch that ain’t got niggas like me checking for her, then have you some kids. We clear?”

“Y-yes,” he whimpered, full on crying at this point. “Wh-what should I tell them?”

“You smart. Figure that shit out.” I kicked his phone toward him. “I left you one good hand to call the ambulance.”

With that, I dipped out, concealed by my hoodie and ski mask just like when I entered.

Pulling out of the lot on three wheels damn near, I felt good, relieved. I highly doubted Trayvon would be an issue, but if he was, I would do what I promised.

I had a feeling, though, that Trayvon learned the fucking hard way that I wasn’t a nigga to say shit twice, and I always followed up on whatever the fuck was said.

After dropping off that Tahoe, I made my way home, brushed my teeth, and hopped in the shower. By the time I’d gotten out, Banks had texted me.

Peep: I’m in the mood for chicken and waffles.

Me: I got you. I was about to get food for the kids though so you mind?

Peep: Of course not. I prefer them over you.

Me: Didn’t sound like it last night. Made me feel like I was a daddy for real with the way you was yelling that shit.

Peep: Bye, Low.

Me: We going to eat. Get Wave.

Wyatt: Aight.

I chuckled, thinking of Banks’s last text, before locking my shit up then going to throw on a blue Nike T-shirt, track pants, socks, and slides. After brushing my hair a bit, I ventured into the living room to see Waverley and Wyatt were already on the couch, ready.

I checked on my mama who was knocked the fuck out, an empty bottle near the bed. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting out of her latest rehab stint, considering the last time she went, years ago, it didn’t work either.

We filed into my Maybach, letting Waverley play deejay for the night, even with Wyatt protesting.

I texted Banks that I’d arrived, not wanting to leave my siblings in the car while I fetched her. However, when she neared the whip, I climbed out to open the door for her.

“My bad. I couldn’t leave them,” I expressed before I kissed her.

She only shook her head to say it was cool, a smile on her perfect face.

She was wearing a tight ass dress, something she often wore on chill outings, but it looked like some runway shit.

She, of course, smelled heavenly, wearing the jewelry, sandals, and purse I’d bought her, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make a nigga feel some type of way seeing in her in shit I’d cashed out on.

I’d bought enough on that one shopping trip to last her a year straight.

Her long hair was clipped up in the back, water-falling over the clip since it was too long, and her dark skin looked pliable with a glow to it like always.

I shook my head in awe after closing her door, listening to her greet my siblings happily.

We ended up at Roscoes, and I noticed Banks eyeing every girl that spoke to me. I dapped up the niggas I knew before having them seat us at the back.

“I hate popular niggas.” She somewhat jested, elbowing me in the side as we sat across from Waverley and Wyatt in discussion about what they planned to get.

“Only in the hood, Peep, and I can’t help it. Nobody knows a nigga past the hoods of Los Angeles. I’m far from famous.” I kissed the side of her face. “I only want yo’ attention though.” I spoke against her ear, not missing the small intake of air she took just before I kissed the shell of her ear.

“What are you gonna get, Banks?” Waverley asked, brows furrowed as if this were a serious decision.

“Get whatever. I’ll pay.” Wyatt spoke up just as the waiter came over to take our orders.

“Hey, Low.” She beamed, eyes darting to size Banks up some.

“Sup. Get their drinks first.” I directed her to Banks and my siblings.

“Where yo’ brother?” Another waitress floated over, stopping at Banks’s side and smiling inanely.

After ordering her drink of choice with the first waitress, Banks looked at the one nearest her, asking, “Which one? I got a lot.”

I chuckled at my girl’s smart comment.

“Shit, any of ’em,” another girl—a patron—said from her table.

“Facts.” The waitress giggled as I put in my drink order with our actual waitress.

“Aye, make sure nobody else comes over here asking groupie shit,” I told our waitress, and she nodded, again looking at Banks once more before switching off.

“You fucked her before?” Banks queried.

“She tried to suck my dick before, and I was ’bout to let her, but some shit popped off, so I had to dip.”

“No wonder she’s sizing me up.” Folding her arms, she added, “I’m gon’ check her ass when she brings them drinks.”

I could only chuckle, knowing Banks’s mind couldn’t be changed once made up, just like her fucking brothers. She didn’t realize, though, that she was just as ‘famous’ as her siblings because of who she was connected to, and a bitch sizing her up could’ve been just because of that.

The rest of the meal went cool, and Banks was true to her word, checking the girl for eyeing her and then telling the manager to give us someone else to tend to the table, to which he complied.

We left, headed to the car, but when I saw bitch ass Detective Booth standing outside of the establishment with his hands sunken into the pockets of his slacks, my heart stalled. This was the wrong fucking time, with my siblings and girl in tow.

“Mr. Harris, you mind if I speak?—”

“Nah. I’m busy and got my people with me.” I hit the locks on my whip and bobbed my head at Wyatt to take Waverley to the car.

Thank God the little nigga listened, and I didn’t have to get in his ass in front of this detective. He did try to gauge the situation before he followed my demand though.

Booth snickered, wiping his mouth before landing his eyes on Banks and saying, “Detective Booth.”

When he stuck his hand out to shake hers, I stepped in front of her.

“Like I said, this ain’t the fucking time.”

He studied me for a beat, staring up into my eyes before saying, “Come to the station very soon, Mr. Harris, or else.”

He walked off with his stupid ass, and I watched for a moment, running through a rolodex of people I could hit up to slide through on that nigga tonight so he’d be a memory by sunrise. However, I needed to know why my connect wasn’t deading this shit as soon as my name came up.

“What is he wanting to talk about?” Banks asked as I led her to the car. “Please tell me it’s not what I think.” She peered up into my eyes as she stood between the ajar car door and her seat. Her pretty ass eyes were bubbling over with uneasiness.

“Get in the car, Peep.” I gripped the door handle tightly. “This ain’t got nothing to do with you.”

If she thought I was about to let her be some new-aged Bonnie to my Clyde, she was crazy for real. I’d suffer behind bars for eternity, drowning in thoughts of her making another nigga as happy as she made me before I allowed it.

Thankfully, she read my energy and agreed.