Page 37 of Rather: The Therapist

“And, Kleigh.”

“Yes?”

“Bring that nigga you’ve been swapping spit with for the last month. I need to make sure he fits the mold.”

“Pri–”

“If not, he can get the fuck out of your face.”

I didn’t wait for her to respond before ending the call. Though she would still be trying to pick her lip up from the counter seconds from now, the information I’d just shared shouldn’t have been news to her. It was my job to know the dealings of every one of my siblings. I was the Captain of our ship and I kept my shit tight.

I returned to Princeton’s room, prepared to continue luring him to sleep. However, his eyes were sealed shut and his grip on Woody had loosened, two signs his slumber was in progress. I kneeled down beside his bed and placed a kiss on his cheek, careful not to wake him.

“I love you son,” I confessed, barely above a whisper, “So much.”

I lowered the light beside his bed without shutting it down completely. In the event he woke during the night and his room was pitch black, he’d have a meltdown. I’d made that mistake three too many times and had learned my lesson now.

I freshened up and left Nikola to her nightly duties. On my ride, I sipped from a foam cup. Ice diluted the flavor of the liquor slightly, making it a bit smoother. Whatever was playing on the shuffled list made my stomach turn. There was simply too much yelling and too much hatred being spewed.

Rose’s influence was substantial. Shamefully, I angled my wheels toward the curb and came to a complete stop. I placed my cup in the holder and grabbed my phone with my right hand. My left was curled around my Beretta, waiting for a nigga to get stupid and get riddled.

I unlocked my phone, heading for the music application. The words of the song Rose had sang the first night we’d gotten acquainted replayed in my head over and over again.

I need a gangsta

To love me better.

I recalled the cadence as I typed the words into the search bar. Immediately, I was prompted to click the image of a woman with fair skin and short hair. I tapped and the low, seductive voice surrounded me. Quickly I understood why Rose was singing the piece.

I was back on the road a few seconds later, cup in hand and mind traveling to that place only the girl in my suite could lead me to. By the time I was entering The Mansion gates, the track had looped at least six times. With it blasting through my speakers, I pulled into the garage and shut off my engine.

Got me so high I’m barely breathing. I whistled the tune.

So don’t let me. Don’t let me. Don’t let me go.

“Ursula,” I called out.

Chuckling came through the intercom. “Yes. Mr. Valentine?”

She was waiting, knowing I’d be summoning her before slipping into my suite. I had plans for Rose and to make sure they went accordingly, the staff had to get their feet wet.

“All good?”

“Everything you requested.”

“Good. Good.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Valentine.”

“Goodnight, Ursula.”

9:56.

I stepped into my suite. The coolness caressed my skin. White foam was visible at the bottom of the cup in my hand, which became a problem.

I discarded it on my way upstairs. When I made it up, I located the bottle of Hennessy on the counter and poured a healthy shot into the glass next to it.

The vinyl player didn’t appeal to me tonight. Instead, I unlocked my phone and began searching for the Bluetooth connection the suite provided for surround sound.

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