The irritation inside me softened a little.
“Thank you,” I replied, blushing.
“Aight, don’t start acting shy now,” Booda teased, amusement lingering in his voice.
“I’m not shy.” I waved him off.
“You're jealous, territorial, and mean as hell,” he said. “But you still blush when I compliment you.”
I rolled my eyes with a grin and folded my arms. “Whatever.”
“You missed me.”
Right when I was about to answer, movement near the dance floor caught my attention.
A man was weaving through the crowd toward the exit with a woman hanging onto his arm. Someone called his name, and he looked back.
The second I saw his face, another memory slammed into me so hard it nearly knocked the breath out of me. Tall. Slim. Caramel-colored. Tatted. Gold chain. Gold teeth.
The noise around me dulled.
Dark street. Gunfire. Somebody yelling.
That same man was looking over his shoulder before jumping into a car.
“What is it?” Booda asked, standing to move beside me.
“That’s him,” I replied, my tone urgent, my eyes locked on the man as he started moving back through the crowd. “That’s one of the men I remembered the other day.”
Booda followed my stare, and the moment he spotted the man, his demeanor shifted entirely. “Let’s go,” he said, moving with me right on his heels.
He stayed just ahead, guiding me through the throng of bodies packed tightly across the lower level.
“Watch the target,” he urged as we weaved toward the exit. “We can’t lose him.”
“I got this,” I replied, determination fueling my words.
When we burst through the front door, the cool night air hit my skin, shaking off the club’s heat. Neon lights flickered above,illuminating the chaotic parking lot, where traffic crawled slowly beneath the pounding music spilling from open car windows.
“There,” Booda said, nodding toward the far side of the lot.
The man was making his way to a black Charger as the woman struggled to keep pace beside him in her heels.
A few moments later, the female climbed into the passenger seat. Then, the man glanced at his phone one last time before slipping behind the wheel.
The engine roared to life, and the brake lights flashed red, signaling their imminent departure.
“Get to the car,” Booda ordered.
I darted across the asphalt, my pulse quickening as I unlocked my door and slid into the driver’s seat just as the Charger began to pull away.
Booda jumped in beside me, and the instant the Charger turned onto the street, I followed.
I stayed three cars behind him at first, then four once we hit the freeway. The city lights smeared across my windshield in streaks of gold and white while I kept my hands steady on the wheel. His taillights stayed in sight the entire time, glowing red against the dark like two cigarette tips burning through the night.
He never sped up enough to make me nervous, and that should’ve warned me.
“Slow down,” Booda said from the passenger seat, one arm resting near the window while his eyes stayed on the car ahead of us. “You too focused on not losing him.”
