Page 52 of Roulette: The Madam

“You’re not ready, Yara. You’re not ready. It’s the same fucking conversation every time we talk. As pissed as I want to be with you, I can’t be.”

I lowered until I was squatting in front of her.

“That’s why the nigga that put you on to this shit is pushing daises. Don’t worry about going to the funeral to see him for the last time, either. His casket will be sealed. I made sure of it.”

I grabbed her by the back of the neck, lifting her head from the side of the tub.

“Why, Israel? Why?”

“Because, you don’t get to bring harm to my child and not see the nigga that brought you into this world.”

I pressed my lips against her forehead and closed my eyes. She was limp like a ragdoll. Slowly, the Yara I knew was fading.

“Get better soon, baby girl.”

I released her and stood to my feet. With her favorite black pouch in my hand, I left her on the floor where I’d found her. By seven, she’d be sober, and this moment would be nothing more than a blur if she remembered it at all.

I exited her home and locked the door behind me. Raquim stood outside of the truck with his eyes planted on the door. When I entered his line of vision, he pushed off the truck and waited for instruction. I didn’t have the capacity to give him any.

“She good?” He questioned.

With a nod, I responded. “She will be.”

“Where to?”

“Blue.”

“Seafood?”

“Yeah. I need a fucking drink.”

I unlocked my phone at the thought of dining alone. That wasn’t in my interest. I found Meela’s contact and pressed the message icon.

Blue’s Prime Seafood.

Forty-five minutes.

See you soon.

I’ll be there. Her response was short and simple, leading me in the direction of my car. I tossed the black pouch to Raquim.

“Get rid of that shit.”

It was going to the graveyard of others I’d stolen from Yara’s place over time.

“Say less.”

I steppedout of the GT 63 and stretched my long legs. The valet attendant rushed to my side, taking the door by the handle.

“Good evening, Sir. Reservations?”

I took one look at the thickened, rimmed glasses on his face and knew that driving my car would be the highlight of his night. To be quite honest, I didn’t give a fuck. If given the opportunity, I’d burn the rubber off the tires at his age.

“No.”

“Alright. Can I get a name and number to put–”

“Be safe during your ride, Vince.” I patted his shoulder as I read his nametag. “Just don’t scratch my shit. I don’t have to tell you not to wreck it because you understand you’ll lose more than your life if you do.”

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