“You arrested me,” I countered, and he shrugged. “I’m in cuffs.”
“You agreed to that,” he replied. “And all you gotta do is say you trust me and they’ll come off.”
“I--”
“But you gotta mean that shit, Xoey,” he said, cutting me off. “Don’t say shit to me that you don’t mean because if you do and I find out, this relationship is over.” He shook his head. “I don’t do the lying shit. Always tell the truth, no matter what.” He looked at me through the rear mirror. “If you can’t handle that, then don’t say shit. I’d rather you sit in silence than be lied to.”
I kept my mouth closed because I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t plan to lie to Gift, but I want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he was running things between us. He got to a stoplight, put the car in park, got out, opened my door, and held up the key to the cuff. I turned around, and he quickly took them off.
“Thank you,” I said, and he nodded. He closed the door and got back in the car. “Where are you taking me?”
“Your parents’ house,” he answered, and my face twisted in confusion.
“You know my parents?” I asked, and he nodded. “How the hell do you know my parents?”
“It’s a lot you have to learn about me, Xoey St. Thomas,” he laughed and shook his head. “I ain’t the cookie-cutter nigga you thought I was.”
The sound of his voice washed over me, and I felt my nipples harden. The voices in my head that usually screamed for me to run were eerily quiet. I stared at Gift through the rearview mirror as he drove. When he looked up at me and smiled, I knew I was in for a rude awakening. He was right, I had no clue who he really was, and surprisingly, I was excited as hell at the thought of getting to know him.
Chapter fifty-five
Corinthians
The sounds of Exodus’s doors closing echoed through the garage. I glanced over to see Krude at the trunk, taking out the duffel bag I’d brought with me. Once he had it, we headed to the elevators.
“The next time we go somewhere, can we take two cars?” Krude asked the group. “We are too damn big to be piling up like that.”
“Next time you drive yourself,” Exodus told him.
“Or next time we can leave you,” Judge said, falling into step with Exodus. “That way we can have peace.”
“I am your peace, nigga,” Krude grunted as he stepped around me. Mercy, Cross, and Psalms giggled behind me, and I shook my head. Krude swore he was the best thing in everyone’s life, and to a degree, he was. He kept us laughing and entertained.
Krude used humor to deal with his anger. I wasn’t like him, though. I wasn’t like any of them, to be honest, because I enjoyed killing. Probably a little too much.
The sound of a car starting caught my attention, but I didn’t stop moving. Sounds, too many fucking sounds, but at the same time, not enough. Nothing was enough right now. My fingers started to tingle, and I bit into my bottom lip. I wasn’t anxious, no, it was so much worse than that. I was excited.
The elevator doors opened, and we stepped inside.
“Do not start complaining about the space,” Judge said, pointing at Krude. “We know it’s tight. We can see. We feel it.”
Krude looked over at Judge and smirked.
“Leave him alone, Krude,” Exodus said before he could start up. He was leaning against the wall, with his eyes closed and his hands in his pockets. Yesterday morning, while we were having breakfast at our grandparents’, they pulled him to the side to talk. Their conversation lasted barely twenty minutes, but it ended with him leaving their house, looking pissed off, and our grandparents were worried. “The man is stressed, and he has every right to be.”
“Alright,” Krude agreed, and he turned to me. “Does the couch lady know you’re doing this?”
“Doing what?” I asked him. Krude stared at me for a moment, then kissed his teeth.
“Oh no, nope.” He shook his head and pressed the stop button. “You doing that quiet shit you do when shit is about to go left.” The elevator jerked to a halt, and he stared at me. “Does your couch lady know you’re doing this?”
“She doesn’t need to know.”
“When’s the last time you laid on that couch?”
“A month.”
“A month?” everyone but my sister yelled in unison, and I nodded. Psalms sighed and shook her head. Out of everyone,she was the most concerned. I didn’t do well when I didn’t go to therapy. I did even worse when I wasn’t medicated, but I hadn’t stopped taking my pills. I wouldn’t do that. Not now, not ever, and they could thank Judah for that.
