Page 66 of Crown: Phase 4

Preach’s gaze dropped to her, his breaths growing shallow as he took in her long black-and-gray hair. Even at fifty-four, Kerri was still the flyest woman he’d ever come across. Her rich brown skin glowed against her full lips, painted a deep red that he remembered all too well. Her hair was extensions with leave-out, but they had been installed so well that he couldn’t tell where her real hair ended and the extensions began. The virgin hair was so full and silky, it looked like it had grown straight from her scalp. Kerri had always been fine, but somehow, she had only gotten better with age.

“What the fuck do you want, Kerri?”

“I told you. I want to know why you started a war with the Knights.”

“I didn’t start it.”

“Then what happened, Pierre?”

Preach grimaced, stepping back as he tucked his gun into his waistband. Kerri was right. Fuck Prophet and the guards outside. He didn’t give a damn about them niggas. He wasn’t about to do anything to her simply because of what she used to mean to him. Quiet as kept, she was the only woman he had ever loved. The closest thing he had ever gotten to love. If she had taken him as seriously as he had taken her, they could’ve had a beautiful life together.

But there had always been something with Kerri. She liked him. He knew that much, but she never seemed ready. She needed time to heal from her last relationship…she wasn’t ready to bring anyone around her baby boy…wasn’t ready to go public. Preach had gotten excuse after excuse back then, always hoping there would eventually be a reason for them to be together. But in the end, he realized what the real issue had been. Kerri had liked him a lot, but Ahmad Sr. obviously had her heart.

Preach walked over to the table where he had been seated, grabbed his drink, and took a sip, trying to steady himself. Her calling him by his real name still stirred something deep within, making his gangster instincts want to retreat, a feeling he despised. His father had warned him and his brother about women like Kerri…women who could make a man lose sight of himself, women who could throw him off his game. His father had plenty of women, never believing in love.

Yet Preach had once believed in it. He hadn’t listened. Instead, he dove headfirst with Kerri, wining and dining her, attempting to build something he never intended to create with anyone else. But…she chose someone else.

Memories flooded back, overwhelming him as he recalled her standing in front of him, looking stunning…much like she did now. Preach bit down on his bottom lip, nostrils flaring as he wrestled with his emotions. But like before, he couldn’t keep it together. Kerri’s scent filled the air between them, wrapping around him. He remembered that perfume—Guilty Gucci. She had always loved it, and he had loved it on her, even buying her a couple of bottles along with a few Gucci handbags when they were dating.

“There was a mishap.” He finally admitted.

“I wanted money for my patience. Crown refused and threatened me. In the end, I let him have it, and we parted ways. War was never what I wanted, but Loki wanted Crown’s head after the disrespect. Shit got out of my hands. Crown survived and responded, so here we are.”

“So, you ordered the man who you believe is your son to be killed?” Kerri’s voice cracked with disbelief. “What type of man does that?”

Without warning, Preach tossed the glass at the wall, shattering it. He closed the distance between them, wrapping his hand around her neck and pinning her against the wall. It wasn’t meant to threaten; it was a way to convey just how deeply she had hurt him and the impact it had on him. She wouldn’t leave this muthafucka painting him as the only bad guy. She wouldn’t walk away thinking she could manipulate him. One moment, she claimed Danger wasn’t his son, certain in her assertion; and now, she hinted that he might be when it suited her.

"You think I wanted this shit?" Preach asked.

“Mwen te renmen ou, Kerri. I could’ve set you and him up, draped in the finest shit. I could’ve spoiled you rotten, and given all three of you the world if you’d just gone with me. But you chose differently, so now you must take accountability, too. Let’s not forget that even after you found out who I was, after you were done being mad…you came back around and still fucked with me, opened your legs to me. Because underneath all the bullshit, you knew I was good to you. Then the nigga buys you a ring, and you run off pregnant like I meant nothing. Nah. You fucked up, too. Whether I thought Danger was mine or not stopped mattering. He became a casualty of war.”

Chapter Twenty-One.

By the time Danger pulled into Caresha’s apartment complex, he had been running on nothing but caffeine, guilt, and the stubborn hope that she might finally let him see her. A few days had passed since the shooting, and he’d spent all of them worried. He climbed out of his Benz carrying a bouquet in one hand, a bag of food, and a Chanel shopping bag in the other.

He’d bought everything he could think of that might make her smile. Her favorite food. A gift that he knew most ladies wouldn’t turn down. He didn’t even know if she would take any of it, but showing up empty-handed felt worse. With a heavy heart, he walked up to her apartment and knocked, but he got nothing. After a couple of minutes, he knocked again, harder this time.

“Ree.” He called, but silence was all that answered him.

“I know you're in there, ma. I know you can hear me. Just open the door and talk to me, please.”

Danger stood there for another few minutes before slowly lowering his hand. He looked down at everything he’d brought, then to the parking lot, noticing her mother’s car. He remembered it as the car they got in when leaving the hospital.

“Fuck.” He whispered.

Danger turned, jogged down the stairs, and walked back to his car. Once inside, he pulled out his phone and called Caresha. And it was almost like she knew he would try and was waiting for it. After two rings, the call went straight to voicemail. Danger stared at the screen, knowing damn well she’d ignored him. He tried again, but same shit. Sighing heavily, he opened their messages and typed.

I know you know I’m outside. Please just talk to me. I ain’t going nowhere until you do.

When that text went unanswered, he sent another.

I know you mad. I know I fucked up. But please, just give me five minutes. That’s all I ask. I’m sorry, baby.

Still nothing. It was almost like Caresha was tormenting him the same way she felt he had tormented her when she wanted to talk. Danger could see the messages were being read, but she wasn’t bothering to respond. That shit hurt him to his core. With all pride thrown out the window, he sent another text.

I should’ve talked to you that night. I shouldn’t have shut down like that. I should’ve explained how the shit made me feel instead. How hurt I was by it.

Caresha read that one, too. Still nothing. Danger tossed his phone onto the passenger seat and leaned his head against the headrest. He could leave, but his heart wouldn’t let him. He sat there staring at her apartment, hoping she would eventually give in and change her mind. But just like at the hospital, she didn’t.