Page 62 of Tainted

A shadow loomed over me just as a wad of crumpled notes struck my chest. Before I could react, a sharp crack sent Makori stumbling backward, clutching his jaw.

“Pick that shit up!” Kenyon barked, and the entire diner grew quiet. Even the spatula had stopped scraping against the commercial range.

Makori was already writhing on the old tile floor when Kenyon’s fist struck his jaw again. They looked about the same size, but the way he lifted Makori by his shirt, you would’ve thought Kenyon was a giant.

“Pick that shit up and hand it to her!”

He stalled, staring at Kenyon, wondering if he was serious.

“You can’t hear now?” Kenyon’s fist cracked him again. It was so hard I had to turn my head.

Makori’s chest heaved, scooping the bills in his hand and offering them to me.

“I don’t want it,” My eyes were glued to Kenyon, but he was focused on teaching Makori a lesson.

“Now apologize for being a weak ass nigga who can’t accept rejection,” he ordered, ignoring my statement.

“I’m sorry.”

Kenyon’s forehead wrinkled before aggressively poking Makori’s temple. He bit his bottom lip, embarrassed and annoyed but not enough to retaliate. At this moment, I realized the weight Kenyon carried in this city.

“Sorry for what?”

“That’s enough, Kenyon. Seriously, drop it.”

I was used to having eyes on me in the club because I was doing something worth the attention. Standing in a diner while the heartthrob of the city defended my honor was a level of attention I didn’t want.

“I’m sorry for being a weak ass nigga,” Makori gritted.

Kenyon nodded, then his hand gripped the back of his neck, yanking him in close. Nobody else could hear it, but I did, and the ice in Kenyon’s tone was unmistakable before shoving Makori into the door.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” I fussed while he watched Makori and his crew stumble out the door.

Slowly, he turned to look at me, the storm in his eyes. Then he flashed that magnetic smile that held me captive every time I got a taste.

“I can handle myself.”

“I know, but pretty girls shouldn’t have to. I handle women delicately. That’s why I’m everybody’s favorite, including Zara Nicole’s.”

My mind was still trying to figure out how, seconds ago, he wanted to kill Makori but was now grinning at me. Solving the mystery of Kenyon Keyes would send me to an asylum.

“Stop calling me that.”

At this point, I needed to put the message on my forehead, but in true Kenyon fashion, he ignored it and did what he wanted.

“Miss Margie, can I please get my usual?” he yelled over his shoulder to the woman behind the register while chewing a piece of gum.

“I got you, baby,” she agreed.

“Thank you.”

Silence stretched between us as he examined me, looking for signs of damage. “You haven’t given me anything else to call you. Nice shirt, by the way.”

It was the same T-shirt I borrowed on Mom’s birthday from his closet. I meant to leave it, but Sydney walked in screaming, messing up my thoughts. It paired well with my camo pants and sneakers, tied in the front for a cute, comfortable fit.

“I started to cut it, but something told me to Google the label. You paid $600 for a T-shirt?”

Right now, that six hundred could go a long way, but Kenyon Keyes wasn’t hurting for money, so he chuckled at how shocked I was.

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