The room had a bunch of energy. His entourage snapped pictures all around him, having multiple conversations as they chanted the win. Yet, he was calm.
“This my boy Rayzor,” City introduced then stepped aside.
Rayzor was guzzling a bottle of water. He wore a towel over his head, chest still out but now wearing sweats. Even his Adam’s Apple bobbing was sexy.
“Birthday girl,” he called out as he stood from the sofa, towered over me. I glanced up into his eyes. “You must’ve been luck tonight.”
I bashfully tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “I think you had that all by yourself. Congratulations on the win, though.”
He grabbed my hand with his strong ones. His knuckles were still taped up. Veins protruded. Specks of Flow’s blood was under his nails.
I squealed on the inside.
“True that.” He chuckled, showing a slugged solid gold grill at the bottom as he smiled. “A nigga was almost out of there though. But seeing this beautiful, chocolate ass skin helped me get that W.”
I smiled.
“You have a way with words I see.”
He held out his hand for me to shake.
“Eris, but you they call me E,” I introduced, holding out my hand.
We grew silent.
I cleared my throat.
“These are my girls, Suki and Rhea.”
“Sup,” he said without dropping his gaze from mine. “What you got planned for the night?”
“Whatever they have planned for me.” I shrugged.
“Nah. You with me.” He paused. “After these interviews, I’ll meet y’all outside. Sit, chill, enjoy some food and shit.” He caressed my cheek with his thumb. “Aiight?”
“If that’s what you want.”
When he released me, I let out a breath I had been holding.
City and Suki were having a sidebar that they didn’t think anyone saw. She stepped away from him after they saw us looking.
Rhea and I shared a look.
Rayzor lead his men away from the room, leaving us alone with security and a room full of possibilities.
City walked past us out behind Rayzor.
“Girl!” Suki squealed when the door closed.
“Something going on with you and City?” I smirked.
“Girl… that? Nope. I just wanted him to let Rayzor know we don’t play about you.”
It took about two hours before City came back for us.
Rayzor was posted up outside against a matte-black Raptors truck, lifted with big wheels. It fit him. The illuminated red lights bled into the night. He wore a black, silk short-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned. Black trousers, a heavy Cuban Link, pinky rings on each hand, and a big face Rolex. He had his arms folded, biceps almost ripping the sleeves.
He opened the door. “Hop in,” he said, low and husky.
