The way she sounded moaning and pleading for more dick, the way her eyes rolled back in the holes of that mask, and the way her mouth opened so wide that I could put my dick in her throat. That, on top of knowing that Nina watched it all with a smirk on her face, was some of the most fun I’ve ever had. Nina was a jealous woman, so getting a threesome with her is like winning the lottery. Usually, she’s bitching and griping when she thinks I’m looking at another woman, let alone watching me kill her pussy.
When I slid out of the bed, the other girl flinched in her sleep but never woke up. Nina, however, could always feel when I left the bed. There was no amount of creeping that could slip past her nosey ass.
“Baby, don’t be long.”
“I’m not. Get some rest. You know I’m coming back.” I replied, grabbing my sweatpants draped over the chair in the corner.
Tonight was supposed to be our last night together before she flew to New York to look for a dress for our wedding. With it being in a week, she had gone overboard with planning and had given no time to the relationship, giving it all to the wedding. I guess that’s why this threesome came about. She probably saw in my eyes that I was bored as hell with this shit. Day in and day out, it was questions about the wedding and what I think about dumb shit. She’s the one who wanted to get married so fast in the first place. It’s like she felt me slipping out of her fingers and decided to lock me down past the hold she already had over me.
While Nina went to New York, I had business to handle here in Vegas, with the grand opening of my new night lounge. Plus, Proctor said he and the guys wanted to celebrate my union by throwing me a dead dick party, as they called it. Out of all of us, I had the most women chasing me, scheming for me, preying on me, yet I was the first one to actually put a ring on a woman. That, however, wasn’t because I wanted to. That was because I was put in on a deal that made it impossible not to put a ring on Nina’s finger when she asked for it.
When I was about twenty years old, I worked security for her father’s company. I had no prior experience with security, but my father convinced me to leave Houston and come out here to make money that way with him. I was a knucklehead back then, breaking jaws and slinging niggas around for free, so of course, making money doing the shit didn’t sound bad. I started at the door of the nightclub, to VIP sections, to being everywhere that the head nigga in charge, Kansas, went. I built trust with the nigga, and he said he only felt safe if I were in the car withhim with an AR across my lap. I even had to kill a nigga in front of Kansas who tried to rob us one night. He told me I saved his fucking life, and from then on out, he treated me as such.
During that time, Nina was in college at UNLV, and I never saw her much. Just picked her up from the airport at times. Once her father got sick with cancer, she didn’t have much time for him because her ass was too busy out partying and living her own life to drop everything for him. Kansas was too proud and too private to let any nurse or woman in close to him. So, I started taking care of him as a full time job.
I was doing everything from bathing him to picking him up and carrying him once his legs were too weak to work anymore. Once he couldn’t eat, I was the one putting food through his tubes, and when his body was in pain, putting morphine in his IVs.
Over the two years after Kansas’s diagnosis, he often expressed his appreciation for me, and with one of his last breaths, he said,“You cared for me, so it’s all yours.”
I didn’t believe him at first. I thought the morphine was making him talk crazy. Shit, to me, there was no way he was leaving me with so much money because I played CNA with his ass for a while. It wasn’t real until the will reading and that’s when it all hit me. I was now the owner of Kansas Enterprise, the club and hotel operations he owned in Vegas.
There was only one flaw in my taking ownership, or maybe I should say one stipulation. The contract stated that I had to be with his daughter, Nina, and share the empire, making her my primary domestic partner. The contract was long as hell. Page after page, so I never bothered to read all that shit. All I knew was that I was rich ass a mutha fucka now, and Nina was fine as hell. I would’ve fucked with her for free, and Nina claims that she always had a crush on me but never said shit because I workedfor her father. Once the contract was drawn up, she signed it, I signed it, and just like that, I became the CEO of the company, and she became my girl.
I love Nina. I grew to love her anyway. But now I can admit that there were times I wanted to explore myself, explore life. Fuck bitches. Be free. Do what is in my nature. Shit, my father was a hoe, and still to this day, all he did was fuck bitches, even with grey hair crawling out of his skin. That, however, wasn’t possible because of my signature on that dotted line years ago. I guess that’s why tonight meant so much to me. It was the first time in years I felt like I had fun and did something I had been wanting to do.
When I made it downstairs and came through the side door of Club Blitz, the sound hit me in the chest first, deep bass rattling the walls, lights cutting through the darkness, bodies grinding like it was still Friday night at 10:00 instead of 4:30 in the damn morning. I wasn’t here to judge, however. All these drunk mutha fuckas in here at this time of night meant only one thing. My money was doubling by the minute, so I would keep these doors open 24 hours if I had to.
The club floors were child’s play compared to the back, where the real action lived in the shadows. Behind the scenes, deep into the back hallways, was another money maker, only this one was way more lucrative than overpriced drinks and door charges. Where I was headed was my underground gambling room, where men became rich, and some lost it all.
When I inherited the business, Kansas already had the club open but hadn’t attempted to transition into the Vegas gambling scene. After doing plenty of research on the gambling business, I saw that it was lucrative as hell with little overhead. Only getting licensed to run games legally would not happen with a nigga who had a “reputation” like mine. Nevada’s Gaming Commissiondenied my proposal for a casino without even pretending to think about it. A lot of business owners around here didn’t think I deserved to make money alongside them because of how I got my riches. They still looked at me as a thug ass security guard who, some say, tricked his way into this spot. So, I did what any smart, ambitious, unbothered nigga would do. I opened up one anyway and acted just like the degenerate gangsta they accused me of being anyway.
Once I made it to the entry door, I nodded my head at Sergio, who was standing out front. As soon as the door opened, the concrete floors turned into that dizzy ass casino pattern that made you feel like you were in a maze.
I cut through the poker tables where chips were clacking, the blackjack stations, and then the slot machines. As I walked deeper, the neon faded out until all that was left were shadows. The hallway leading to the back rooms smelled like cologne, that strong ass Baccarat shit that Proctor loved to wear. I always said that you can smell him from a mile away. He better not ever need to hide from anybody because they could find him in 2.2. seconds alone from that scent that always followed him.
“Finally, you show up, nigga.”
Proctor leaned against the wall drinking a beer, giving me shit before I even fully stepped into the hallway.
Proc was my head of security and built like a vault door and twice as stubborn. A loose cannon, too. The type to act first and apologize never. I liked to joke that he was the oldest YN I knew. Besides the slight salt and pepper in his beard, his actions said he was a teenager. One without shit to lose.
“Whatever you want with me, better be important. I was resting good nigga. What the fuck is going on?”
Proctor took what looked like the last swig from the bottle, threw it down, then lifted his chin toward the storage room across from him, which we calledthe cage.
“There’s a nigga in there wilding, threatening to expose the whole damn operation if we don’t give him half his money back.”
“How much did the nigga lose?”
“Twenty bands.”
I shook my head.
“That’s it? Open the door.”
Proc’s size fourteen boot connected with the door in a warning kick before he twisted the handle. The door swung open, revealing a little dude scrunched up on the floor, back against the wall, face full of regret.
“Come out nigga. The boss man wants to talk to you.”
