Chapter one
Amethyst
Business was business, no matter how evident it became to me that the saying was going to end up getting people killed. Not the ones that I was close to, but the ones who worked my nerves, like the muthafucka talking right now. I was trying hard to keep my cool, but it wasn’t working. Instead, I turned my attention to the large glass window that separated the room I was in from the rest of the library. The more Grant talked, the more I got annoyed with him and this shit. The only reason he was alive right now was because I knew it would break Yale’s heart if something happened to him.
“Supply is low,” Grant Kilmore said as he paced. I grunted but didn’t say anything. He never touched the supply that he was worried about, yet he swore he was the mastermind of it all. In the years I’d been working with him, nigga was a comedian. “I looked at the inventory, and it shows that we need six more cars. I have buyers and no supply.”
We were on campus; it was smarter to navigate the library’s hallways than the streets. No one looked twice at a group of people sitting around a room in a private space in the library. We looked like we were having a study session instead of planning crimes.
“Not our fault,” I said, shaking my head as I stared him down. “We move what we can and how we can. You know we don’t go off a list.” I tapped the paper on the table in front of me. This list was a twenty-year minimum bid if we were caught, and that was only if the police caught us. If the niggas who these cars belonged to caught us, we’d be dead.
“That list will put half of a mill in your pocket,” he countered, and I shrugged.
Grant didn’t know shit about cars, and it was evident because if he did, he would know that stealing the cars on his list would have eyes on us.
“All money ain’t good money,” I said, sitting back and crossing my arms.
“Look at the thief having a conscious,” he chuckled lowly and shook his head. He must’ve thought his smart-ass comment was said low enough, but I heard him. I knocked on the table twice to get his attention, then lifted my shirt to show him my gun.
“I don’t tolerate disrespect, square nigga,” I said, shaking my head. “Let that be the last time you try me.” Grant stared me down like he wanted problems before he finally gave me a singular nod. Satisfied, I lowered my shirt and got back to business. “I don’t want Yale on my team, though. I can call Bodhi and ask him to step in.” Even though Yale could drive her ass off, I wanted her out of the game. My boy Bodhi Rush was good as fuck, and I knew he was always looking for a way to make some money.
“Can’t,” Grant said, shaking his head. “He’s already on a team. I checked.”
“Fuck,” I groaned and wiped my hands over my face.
“I’ve already talked to Yale about it; she will do the drive.”
“Nah,” I denied. “I don’t want her in this.”
“I get it,” he said, nodding. “I really do. She’s my girlfriend, and I love her, but there is no one else to do it.”
“Let me think on it,” I sighed.
“We don’t have that much time,” he replied. “They need to know within the next twenty minutes.”
“Why the fuck did you wait to tell me?” I questioned him. I hated last-minute shit, and Grant knew that. We’d been doing business long enough that he knew my ticks just like I knew his.
“I’ve been calling you for the last few days!” he snapped, then sat back in his chair like he realized he’d fucked up. He put his hands out in front of him and shook his head. “Look, I didn’t mean to snap like that, but I’ve been calling you for days. You never returned my call until this morning.”
I grilled Grant, then smirked and laughed. Yeah, he’d been calling me for the last week, but my schedule was packed with shit that was important. I had class, and when my head wasn’t buried in a book or between a bitch’s thighs, I was spending time with my best friend, who also happened to be his woman. Yale was the most important person in my life besides my parents and brothers. For her, I’d drop everything to make sure she was good.
“Alright,” I nodded.
“You’ll do it?” Grant asked. I could see the excitement in his eyes, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. This nigga was a square, through and through. How he even ended up with a woman like Yale, or in our line of business, was beyond me. His brothers were street niggas, but Grant kept his head down and focused on his future career. He wanted to be a damn meteorologist, and his square ass looked the part.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I’ll talk to Yale later and let her know she’ll be spotting me.”
“Spotting you?” he questioned, and I nodded. “You aren’t a driver.” The way he dismissed my idea had me ready to smack the shit out of him.
“I can drive, I just chose not to,” I corrected him. Growing up, I’d stumbled into stealing cars. My brothers were in the streets, living their lives and hustling. One day, I got bored and decided to steal a car, to see if I could. The first few cars, I fucked up, even setting one on fire, but one of the old heads pulled me to the side and showed me the ropes. After that, I stole any car I could get my hands on. The more expensive it was, the more complicated and the more I wanted it. By the time I got to college, I had a rep, and niggas wanted to make fast money. When I was introduced to Grant, I had one stipulation: if the grab didn’t feel right, I didn’t do it.
“Yale already said she was going to drive,” he said, shaking his head.
“Yale may tell you what to do, but she doesn’t tell me what to do,” I stated. Yale controlled her relationship with Grant. He was a square nigga, and she was a street-smart woman. I would never say she was from the hood because she wasn’t, but she knew how to navigate both the hood and school equally. “I’ll let her know I’m the driver, and that’s final.”
“You think it will be that simple?” he asked, and I shrugged. “She’s not going to roll over because you said.”
“I never said I was going to have her roll over,” I said, shaking my head. “We’ll talk. She’ll understand, and that’ll be it.”
