Page 28 of Priest

I lifted the heaviest knife out of the chopping block and weighed it in my hand. I then exchanged it for the lightest oneand held it against my thigh. I wore short shorts, and there was no way that I could hide the knife anywhere on my body. My T-shirt was so tight you could spot a crumb in my bra underneath it. I had no doubt that Priest would spot it. He would have a bullet between my eyes before I made my first move.

I sighed and replaced the knife in the wood block. I walked to the sink, rinsed my glass out, and then turned out the light and left the kitchen.

I was heading back to my bedroom when I spotted Priest sitting on the floor in front of the couch in the den. His knees were pulled up near his chest, and his arms were draped over his knees. Priest’s head was bowed, and his fingers were clasped together almost in a prayer position.

There was something so serene and beautiful about him in that instant and something so sacred and humbling. My eyes drifted down, and I realized that the comb, brush, and oil were sitting beside him, along with a container of rubber bands.

After everything we’d gone through, he still expected me to braid his hair. This nigga had some nerve. He was so arrogant. Or maybe he was just hopeful.

As if he sensed my presence, Priest’s head jerked up, and he turned to look over his shoulder.

“If you gonna do my hair, bring ya ass.”

No, he was arrogant.

“Excuse me?”

His top lip curled, his nostrils flared, and his eyes darkened.

“Don’t play with me, little girl.”

“Damn, I’ve gone from Mary to the pampered princess to PP, and now I’m a little girl.”

He shook his head but didn’t verbally respond.

“I got your little girl,” I muttered.

If he heard me, he still didn’t respond. It was as if Priest had already closed himself off to me once again. I struggled tounderstand his deep mood swings, and I wasn’t sure what they were all about. I just knew that I didn’t like them one bit.

TUESDAY AFTERNOON

We pulledup to the shipyard over on Twenty-First and Ward and climbed off our bikes. We hopped up on the dock and walked to the green door numbered seventeen. I rapped on it three times and then waited.

“Priest.” Morgan greeted with a nod when he opened the door.

“You got my guns?”

“I’ve got your guns. They’re all in perfect condition.”

“Good,” I replied and stepped through the door with Sunny behind me.

Christopher Morgan’s bodyguard patted me down and prepared to take my gun, but I gripped his arm. “I won’t use it if you niggas don’t give me a reason to.”

He remained still and glared into my eyes until Morgan declared, “It’s okay, Creighton.”

I released his arm, and he stepped over to Sunny and did the same thing, but then he stepped back after Morgan’s approval.

“What about my concessions?” Morgan asked as he peered back at the closed door.

“Ain’t no muthafuckin concessions. Give me my shit, and you might live to see another day. That’s the only concession.”

“Priest, I told you to come alone, and you brought him and the entire MC with you out here.”

I smirked. “Not the entire crew, Morgan. Just a handful of niggas.”

“I asked you to bring September with you. I don’t see my daughter.”

“I want my shit, muthafucka. You don’t dictate a damn thing.”

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