Cash turned his attention to the stranger. “CJ,” he said with a nod.
“What up, Money?” CJ stepped forward to dap up him and Slim.
“Damn, Money, it’s like that?” I teased, mid-chew. “Can a lady get a little respect?”
“My fault, Nai,” Cash exhaled, running a hand down his face. “Slept like shit last night.”
CJ dropped on the couch next to me, forcing me to scoot over. That Brooklyn arrogance oozed off him as he ignored the side eye I gave him. The man knew he was fine as hell, though—smooth nutmeg skin, full lips, and a fresh Caesar fade that I knew he got lined up every week. His biker vest proudly displayed the Gotham Reapers symbol, and hung open to show off his solid build under a fitted long-sleeved shirt.
He turned, flashing me a dimpled smile and a playful wink like he knew I was grilling him. I rolled my eyes and popped the last of my sandwich into my mouth.
Jelani dragged another chair into the room, sighing heavily as he sat. “We saw Jasmine and Marcus last night.”
“What?” Slim sat up straight.
“We went to get dinner, and apparently so were they,” Jelani said grimly.
My pulse kicked up. “They see y’all?” I asked.
“Jas did,” Cash said, finally stepping away from the window. “Marcus didn’t. I swear on Sydney—I’m ready to put a hole in that nigga’s head.”
Fontaine was already pulling out his laptop. “About that… I found some shit this morning you need to see.”
Cash made his way over, hovering over Fontaine’s shoulder as he typed. I couldn’t see the screen, but I watched Cash tense up, eyes narrowing.
“The fuck am I looking at ?”
“A marriage certificate,” Fontaine said slowly.
“Fuck,” Slim muttered.
Cash straightened and let out a hollow, humorless laugh. He looked like he was two seconds from crashing out. “She ain’t marry that nigga.”
“He forged her signature,” Fontaine confirmed. “But it’s filed, it’s official on paper.”
A chair went flying across the suite, crashing against the wall as Cash exploded. “This why he called her his wife?” he shouted.
I dragged my teeth across my bottom lip. This whole thing made my skin crawl. I knew Marcus wasn’t someone to take lightly. I’d still thought about how he blacked out on Poppi over some sneakers. He’d come out of prison broken in more ways than one.
CJ whistled as he stretched his arms along the back of the couch. “That nigga came home on one. Can’t say I’m shocked.”
Cash paced the length of the suite, both hands locked behind his head. “When can I kill this nigga, yo?”
“He’s taking her to a gala in two days. We can move then,” Fontaine said.
Cash ran a hand over his waves. “Fuck he doing taking her to a gala?”
“Apparently, Marcus is one of the councilman’s biggest donors,” Fontaine explained.
Slim snorted. “A dirty ass politician in bed with a dirty ass nigga. Sounds about right.”
“Oh, he’s showing her off,” I said. “Especially if they’re married—this is some weirdo power play.”
Men like Marcus pissed me off the most—corny niggas who believed their money and power made them untouchable.
Fontaine looked up from his screen. “It’s gonna be tight. The whole event will becrawling with private security and law enforcement.
“And we don’t have BC manpower here,” I added. “So there’s no room for fuck ups.
