Page 21

Crown Gravehart

" S ir! Sir! You can't park there!" Not giving a fuck what that nigga was talking about, I stormed through the automatic doors.

"Sir!" Feeling a hand on my arm, I snatched away, jerking the nigga forward.

"Don't fuckin' touch me," I barked. "Do your fuckin' job and secure my muthafuckin' car."

"But sir, you?—"

This nigga wasn't hearing me. I snatched him by the collar of his button-up shirt, hemming his ass against the wall.

"Tell me what the fuck I can't do again. I dare you!" The dude was visibly shaken. Sweat poured from his pores as the smell of piss rose between us. "Pissy ass nigga," I scoffed, then tossed his ass out the automatic doors.

These muthafuckas in this hospital were gon' have a nigga on the twelve o'clock news.

Approaching the nurse's station, I gave the woman sitting by the desk a warning look to not fuck with me.

She must've taken it for some type of mating call because her white ass tongue lapped her top lip right before her buttery chiclets bit into her bottom lip.

Crazy part 'bout it, her lips looked drier after she did all that extra shit.

"Good evening, handsome, how can I?—"

Ignoring her thirsty ass, I reached over the desk to grab the tablet nurses used to keep up with patients moving around the hospital.

"Sir, you can't take that," her ugly ass huffed, standing up like that was gon' do some.

"Too late."

I scrolled, looking for River's name, when it dawned on me that I didn't know her fucking last name.

Honestly, up until this moment, I never cared to learn it because it didn't matter to me.

She was Mrs. Gravehart, as far as I was concerned.

Tossing the tablet on the desk, I caught eyes with the nurse.

"My wife was brought in tonight. Car accident, first name River."

"I don't see a ring," her stupid ass had the nerve to say.

Humorlessly, I chuckled. "Do you think I give a fuck 'bout you not seeing a fuckin' ring on my finger? Behind River muthafuckin' Gravehart, I'm willing to crash out, and I promise you don't wanna see how destructive a nigga can get."

"Uh... okay... okay." Nervously, her finger got to tap dancing all over that fucking tablet. "I... I don't see a River Gravehart."

"'Cause that's not her name, stupid ass," I gritted.

"I'm sorry, but that's what you... you called her."

"I know what the fuck I said."

Shaking my head at the nurse, I let out a heavy breath to calm myself.

"Ight, listen, we obviously got off on the wrong foot.

I blame the cracked pavement you call lips, but that's neither here nor there.

I'm looking for my wife, River. That name ain't fucking common.

Whatever River you have here, I'm sure it's my River. Tell me where she's at, please."

"Okay." She glanced back at the tablet.

"Uh, we have a River Ashland on the—" Her focus drifted past me, pissing me off because nothing was more important than what the fuck I asked her for.

"Aye, didn't I ask you to find my fucking wife? You got five seconds to tell me where she's at, or I'm drag your sack-of-quarters-shaped ass into every room and killing each patient that's not my wife."

"Sir, you wouldn't!"

"Bitch, I'ma smile like a proud husband in my mugshot."

Nodding slowly, she glanced down at the tablet. "Uh yeah, she's—" the nurse was flustered and her gaze shot past me once again, this time with a hint of lust.

I laughed once more because God was really handing me the toughest battle on a fucking platter. It was cool 'cause if I had to show everyone in this bitch that I was God's strongest soldier, then so be it. My gun went from my waist to being aimed between her beady ass eyes.

"You-you-can-can't have that in here or them." Her gaze drifted from me to whoever was standing to my right, but slightly behind me. I didn't have to turn around to know the reason her skull matter was gon' be the new decor.

"What we aren't supposed to bring in should truly be the least of your worries.

" Killian walked closer, pushing my shoulder forward so my gun was now pressed against her scaly skin.

"Nurse... ummm, ah, there it is, Nurse Ashley.

We don't shoot to miss. If this gentleman squeezes the trigger, a bullet will be released, and you will die.

Now I need two favors from you. Remove your hand from the silent alarm and give this nice gentleman the information he asked for. "

"River Ashland. Car accident, yes, she is on the fourth floor in recov?—"

"Recovery." My fucking knees buckled without warning. I reached for the desk in time to keep from hitting the floor.

"One minute," I heard Killian say, but my muthafuckin' head was spinning.

"Straighten the fuck up. This moment isn't about you or the way you fucking feel," Killian gritted low enough for only me to hear.

I nodded, stood up straight, tucked my gun in the waist of my jeans, and then thanked the nurse. Her smile was weary and forced. I didn't blame her. Killian and I made it over to the elevators. I pressed the button anxiously, counting along as the elevator dropped in floors.

"Nigga, you can't bring them in the room," I said to Killian about Grim and Ghost.

"I don't plan on going into the room. I'm just making sure you make it up there with no issues."

"Why would I have problems?"

Killian scoffed as the elevator doors opened. Five cops stepped off, all with their hands glued to their holsters.

"Good evening, officers," Killian greeted.

"We were informed of an issue between a nurse and two gentlemen. One had a gun, and the other had two dogs."

Both Grim and Ghost lowered their heads, their snarls deepening into guttural warnings, silently promising violence if their owner gave the command.

"Fika," Killian spoke evenly. "They don't appreciate being referred to as dogs . As you can see, Ghost and Grim are so much more."

"Oh yeah? Other than mutts, what are they?"

The officer standing toe to toe with Killian laughed, his fingers drumming against the leather that concealed his weapon.

This expired-milk-looking muthafucka was itching to shoot.

His brothers in blue didn't seem to be on the same accord.

Killian took a slow step forward, bringing himself chest-to-chest with the officer.

Had the cop been smart, he might've caught on to the way Killian stared at him like he was already a corpse.

"Morde y tranka," he murmured the command. Grim lunged first. His jaws clamped down on the officer's ankle.

"Fuck," I groaned, hearing the twisted crunch of Grim's teeth sinking into this man's bones.

The officer's smug expression morphed into a scream as he dropped, scrambling and clawing at the floor.

Blood poured from his wound, and Killian, swiped some onto his finger and brought it to Ghost. Ghost sniffed, becoming acquainted with the metallic scent.

"Call them mutts again," Killian challenged, crouching beside the officer.

His voice was calm, almost like the nigga was bored.

"Officer, do you understand why your brothers are doing nothing as Grim tears your ankle from your shin?

Don't worry, it's rhetorical. They know who the fuck I am.

More importantly, they know Grim and Ghost. Most people fear me because of my reputation, but it's them.

.. my best friends, that muthafuckas need to be afraid of.

Now, I lead with forgiveness, but I can't say the same for my best friends.

Let's see how Ghost feels about being called a mutt. "

Ghost took one step forward, ears pricked and waiting for his taste of blood.

"Morde y tranka."

It was now Ghost's turn. The officer sobbed, panic overtaking whatever pride he came in with. Killian stood watching as his best friends tore ruthlessly into the officer's limbs.

"I'ma go see about River. You good?" I asked just to be polite. It was clear Killian didn't need my help with any of this shit.

"Go. I'll be up soon."

I nodded before hopping on one of the elevators, jamming my finger into the fourth-floor button. The irony of Four being on the fourth floor was too loud for me to ignore. Shit like this was what my moms used to preach.

"Remember, coincidences aren't real. When your heart, mind, and soul are in true alignment, you'll look back and realize those moments were never random. It was a divine setup, a hidden message unfolding in perfect timing."

Shadae was a woman of her word, and all she's taught me has proven true in one way or another.

The doors of the elevator barely opened before I rushed off. I jogged down the hall, passing another nurse's desk, and ignored her, yelling for me to stop. I read the names written on the whiteboards outside every door I passed but stopped once I got to room 404.

"4-4-4," I huffed, shaking my head. "Should've known."

Whatever message the universe was sending me, I wasn't understanding. Shit was aligning, but nothing was divine about my wife lying in a hospital bed.

Ask questions and listen before going the fuck off .

Twisting the doorknob, I pushed the door open in hopes of listening to my own advice.

Honey was the first to look in my direction.

Her eyes were puffy and red, and her cheeks were ashy.

Not saying a word, I barely acknowledged her.

My focus went where it belonged... on Four.

She laid in the bed with a bandage wrapped around her head and a couple of IVs in her arm.

She was sleeping. The monitor on the machine next to her bed showed she was at peace, but I needed to hear that shit from her.

"Four," I voiced, inching closer to the bed.

"Let her rest." Honey came and stood in the small space that separated me from Four.

I chuckled lowly. A nigga was really going to end up on a news clip. I didn't wanna hear shit about Four needing rest. For my own sanity, I needed to look into her eyes as she told me she was good.