Page 33 of Deuce

“How about one of you?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not on the menu.”

“You could definitely get eaten up. What time do you get off, sweetness?”

“When my shift is over. Excuse me.”

I tried to walk away, but he grabbed my arm and yanked me back.

“Don’t be rude,” he said, pulling me back.

I snatched away from him. “Don’t put your fucking hands on me.”

“Oooo, you have a dirty mouth. I got something for that.”

“You don’t have a muthafucking thing for me. Believe that.”

He grabbed my arm again, quickly standing to his feet.

“I can show you better than I can tell you. Ain’t nothing like a feisty bitch that fights back.” He grabbed my ass. “I know you would give me a run for my money.”

“What’s the fucking problem?” I heard behind us.

I turned to see Deuce standing there with a frown on his face.

“Mind your business, my nigga,” the guy said.

“You’re in my place of business grabbing on my employee. Does she look like she wants you touching her? Do you want him to touch you?”

“Fuck no.”

“Remove yo’ fucking hands.”

The guy shoved me away and squared up at Deuce, a decision he regretted when he was staring down the barrel of a solid gold beretta. Deuce grabbed him by the collar.

“Please give me a reason to get trigger-happy. I haven’t put a bullet in a muthafucka in days. Don’t let it be you.”

The guy raised his hands in surrender. “A’ight man, damn!”

“Apologize.”

“I’m sorry!”

“The fuck you sorry for? Be specific, nigga.”

“I’m sorry for grabbing her?—”

“Say that shit to her!”

He looked at me. “I’m sorry for grabbing you. Just call him off.”

I cocked my head to the side. “I might be inclined to do that with a little incentive.”

“What?”

“A nice tip will suffice.”

“Bitch—”

---