The Last Kings (13 page)

He was sleeping soundly when I entered the room with nothing but my bathrobe hiding my eighteen-year-old body. I turned on some sensual R&B music and dimmed the lights to set the mood. As I stared before me, I licked my lips just at the thought of climbing on top of Tyler.
The
Tyler. All the girls in my class wanted a piece of that, and I was going to be the one to get it. I knew he was feeling me just by how he looked at me. I knew I'd finally grown into my body, and now was the time to put it to work.

My eyes opened, and I smiled at Tyler as he sat grown and suave before me holding up his glass.

“Cheers,” he said.

“Cheers,” I smiled and clanked his glass with mine.

This is going to be an interesting week,
I thought with a smirk and welcomed the burning sensation as I emptied my glass.

Mocha quietly climbed out of Khiron's king-sized bed in her nightie, not wanting to wake him. It was her last morning with him, and she wanted to surprise him with breakfast in bed. She tiptoed her way through his large house to his oversized kitchen and went to work. Chicken and waffles, a breakfast fit for a king! That's what he was. Her king. Mocha hadn't meant to fall in love with Khiron, but after all of the trips to Atlanta and all the time they'd spent together, it was hard not to. She felt bad for keeping secrets from him, and even more so, her team, but she felt that she was entitled to a personal life. A life no one but she could control. She also felt that it was vital to keep her affiliation with The Last Kings secret. Although he was a hustler in Atlanta, he was pulling in heavy weight in his own city. His operation wasn't moving nearly as much work as The Last Kings, and Mocha felt that would put a huge dent in their relationship if he knew. As far as Khiron knew, she was still a student working part time at a local bank. Who said a good relationship couldn't be built on a lie? Mocha also knew Khiron's temper. She'd been present for enough killings and kidnappings. Khiron was the type of man who just didn't care. Whereas Ray's heart was cold, Khiron simply didn't have one; only with Mocha. She didn't know how he would take it if he found out his girl saw more money in one day than he did in two months. She knew Atlanta was a hard market, so she had been giving them work at a lower price. She wasn't anyone's connect, but the product she provided the city kept its drug ring afloat. Mocha also knew if Khiron found that out, he would flip the script.

“
Baabbyy
,” Mocha purred into his ear once his breakfast was made and sat on a small table tray before him.

“Mmm,” Khiron stirred before finally opening his eyes. Once he saw the food in front of him, a big smile crossed his face. “Damn, ma, you the fuckin' best!”

Mocha returned his smile and handed him his eating utensils. “Eat up!” she said.

And that he did. The air was filled with smacking and chewing. In less than ten minutes, the plate was completely clean. Mocha stared at the plate, shocked, wondering if the nigga had been starving.

“Damn,” she said, cutting her eyes seductively at him. “With all that eating you did last night, I didn't think you'd be that hungry.”

Khiron grinned and pushed the tray to the floor, causing the dishes to make a large clanking noise.

“Girl, you know I can never get enough of you. A nigga is always hungry!” He pulled her on top of him, and they shared a passionate kiss before Mocha pulled away.

“I have to hop in the shower, babe. You know my plane leaves in three hours,” Mocha said.

Khiron looked at the clock and saw it read ten o'clock and remembered that her flight took off at one o'clock. He knew how Mocha was. Early was on time. He smiled at her and squeezed her bottom for good measure.

“A'ight, ma, it's coo. Leave your man lying here with a hard dick. I see how it is,” he told her playfully.

Mocha rolled her eyes at him and kissed him one last time.

“Boy, your dick is always hard. What's new?” She laughed at him and got up from the bed. “You can join me if you'd like,” she winked at him.

“Naw, I'm good right here.” Khiron wasn't yet ready to get out of bed.

“Suit yourself.” Mocha shrugged her shoulders and disappeared inside of the bathroom in the bedroom.

Once she was out of sight, Khiron sighed and shook his head. He didn't know what he was doing anymore. Mocha was meant to be only a fling, but here it was coming up on a year, and the bitch was still in and out of his crib. She was honestly the only woman that had ever even seen the inside of his home. He hadn't meant to develop such strong feelings for the girl, but he couldn't help it. She was smart, independent, and sassy, just like he liked them. Not to mention her body put even the curviest woman to shame. But Khiron also knew love in the dope game got you killed, and he wasn't ready to die. Especially not over pussy. That's how his pops went out, and he, for damn sure, wasn't going to follow in his footsteps. His dad was one of the greatest dope men to ever grace the streets of Atlanta. That man could push work in his sleep. In the end, however, he met a sticky end, just like so many before him. It was all bad for Khiron when he found that out. He was nineteen and at the age where he would have inherited all of his father's empire. Instead, all he got was a box of his father's old videos that he accidently left with Khiron's mother, his father's old machete, and a few pieces of jewelry. Khiron had to fight for his rightful place at the top and put many bodies under.

Once his pops was dead, Atlanta went crazy. Everybody was trying to be the next kingpin, even though there could only be one. Eventually, Khiron claimed his right to fame by killing any nigga in his way. Khiron watched the videos his father left behind several times, and each time got knots in his stomach. The videos clearly showed the face of the one who betrayed his father . . . someone close to him.

Too close.

Khiron swore on his father's grave that he would avenge his death once he located them, but in the meantime, he was in a sticky situation when it came to his cartel. Things were going smooth for him. His business was expanding, but after a huge drug bust, his connect wound up in prison. He got life without a chance of parole. Now, Khiron was stuck with serving a city with no fucking connect. No connect meant no money. No connect meant no cartel, and he couldn't have that. Once his well ran dry, that would be the end of the road for him, but he wasn't with that. He wasn't tripping too hard though. He knew off tops where he could find a connect. Detroit. Mocha's home. He wanted to ask her if she knew anything about The Last Kings, even though he knew she couldn't. The operation was too smooth and low-key. He knew they were getting millions of dollars. The stories he heard about them sounded like myths and urban legends, but he knew they existed, and it wouldn't be hard for him to get a number.

When Coopa was still running shit in the city, they'd crossed paths a few times to conduct business, and every time, Khiron remembered a cat by the name of Ray being there. When he first met with them, he made the mistake of shaking Ray's hand first, mistaking him for Coopa. He just had that aura about him. That man had a presence that could make any nigga bow. Not cocky, just confident, and when Khiron sent a few of his soldiers to scope out Detroit, he found that Ray was, in fact, the new boss of the city. All he needed to do was get in contact with him and get the product he needed to push in his city.

There was also another plan in the works. Detroit was a great market for business. Khiron wanted it. He didn't mention to Mocha that he would be catching a flight to Detroit a little after hers because he didn't want her all in his business or checking for him once he touched down. So he just kept that little piece of info to himself, and if he ran into her in the city, he would just blow her off. There were many more where she came from.

“OK, I'm ready to head to the airport!” Mocha said cheerfully as she emerged through the bathroom door, a trail of steam following her.

“A'ight, shorty, let me throw on some shit and we can go,” Khiron said, snapping out of his thoughts.

It's going to be hard to let all that go, though,
he thought as he eyed her in a white Louis Vuitton minidress that clung to all of her curves and her red pumps.

He shook his head one time, and then proceeded to get dressed, trying not to let her see his Louis Vuitton suitcases in the closet.

* * *

Once Mocha was through the terminal, her tiny vacation was swiftly over with one phone call.

“Hello?” she said into the phone, recognizing Devynn's number.

“You back?” Devynn cut right to the chase.

“Just touched down actually,” Mocha told her, throwing her suitcase to the driver of the Mercedes waiting for her in front of the airport.

“Coo, I need you to meet me at Lace tonight at nine o'clock sharp,” Devynn told her.

“Any particular reason why?” Mocha asked, leaning back into the cold leather inside of the luxury vehicle.

“Well, if your ass didn't feel the need to go to Atlanta as much as you change thongs, you would know that some little niggas came into the salon this morning trying to rob it and shit.” She didn't even try to disguise the annoyance in her voice.

“You coo?” Mocha asked, knowing that the salon was all her.

“The question is . . . Are them niggas coo, and the answer to that is . . . hell naw.” Devynn began telling her the story, and Mocha was all ears. “It was early, so I was the only one there, of course. When I went to the back room to do some counts, I heard the window crash. It had to be at least six niggas all strapped. I got three of 'em, but real shit, if Amann hadn't decided to stop by unexpectedly, I wouldn't be alive to be talking to yo' ass.”

“Damn,” Mocha said, genuinely concerned. “I'm glad you're cool. What'd Ray say?”

“We think the shit was premeditated. They had to have been watching the spot close for a minute to learn its schedule, and today was a drop-off day. One hundred stacks alone were in the back room, and they would have had it all if they would have popped me.”

“So what's going on at Lace tonight?”

“Bitch, we on the phone. Just be there, a'ight?” Devynn said, insinuating that the phone could be tapped.

“A'ight, where's Sadie?” Mocha rolled her eyes at Devynn's quaintness. She never really liked her, but she dealt with her just because of the business. “Is she going to be there too?”

“You don't know?” Devynn chuckled.

Mocha was confused at what was so funny but tried to keep a steady voice.

“Know what?”

“Girl, Sadie ain't here. She probably chilling on the beach somewhere topless and shit. Her and Tyler both, actually.”

“Hold up.” Mocha tried to make sense of her words. “What are you saying?”

“She in Jamaica, girl, for a week. She actually just left yesterday with Tyler.” Devynn, once again, didn't try to hide the smugness in her voice.

Mocha, although very shocked, didn't want to give Devynn the satisfaction.

“Aw, OK, that's what's up,” she said like she didn't care. But in reality, a million and one thoughts were going through her mind.

“I'll be there,” Mocha said and ended the call.

Sadie kept telling her to chill when it came to Devynn, but Mocha just didn't like her. She knew to be in good with Ray you couldn't be on any snake shit, but there was something about her attitude that she didn't like. Sadie often said it was because they were so alike in many ways. Mocha didn't want to admit it, but, of course, Sadie was right. The two of them were both headstrong, which made them hardheaded. Once stuck in their own way, it was impossible making them see reason. Devynn was just cocky, and Mocha didn't like that shit. Mocha gave the driver the directions to her destination; then she sat back sipping on her Chardonnay thinking about what Sadie was up to.

* * *

“This is beautiful!” I exclaimed, leaning over the balcony from my room in the penthouse suite Tyler and I shared. “I can't believe I'm here!”

From my balcony, I had the perfect view of the beach. Although we had just returned from the sand and the joys of being swamped by the huge waves, I couldn't get over the scenery. I stood there with my towel wrapped around my waist and wet hair loosely hanging over my shoulders. I was sad that Ray wasn't there to enjoy my first trip out of the country, but I was happy that he chose Tyler to accompany me. We had so much fun at the beach. I never knew that Tyler had such a soft, fun, loving side, but he was right beside me, splashing in the water. He even dunked me a few times, hence my hair being as fucked-up as it was. We made a sand castle, and he said that it was The Last Kings mark on Jamaica. When I first emerged in my string bikini, Tyler's eyes traveled my body for a brief second, but that was the only awkward moment in the whole day. He never advanced on me as we ran around like teenagers, and I felt at peace. No killing, no guns, no drugs. I forgot what it felt like to just chill out and relax. At home I was always on edge, driving around in bulletproof vehicles and traveling with ten goons at a time. I felt at ease here, and as long as Tyler was beside me, I felt safe. I was feeling a little sad for not telling Mocha where I was, but she was in Atlanta handling business, and I didn't want to interrupt anything. She would understand.

“This is my third time being here,” Tyler said coming up from behind. “Each time I come I expect it to be less beautiful than before.”

“And?” I said smiling up at him.

“It's always as beautiful as before,” he smiled back down at me.

I stood there and took in the man before me. He must have hopped in the shower as soon as we hit the door. My nostrils inhaled his Burberry Weekend cologne, and my eyes took in the white wife beater that hugged his muscular upper body in the sexiest way and the camouflage cargo shorts he wore. On his feet he had a pair of all-white Retro Jordan 4s and although a simple fit, I was feeling his fresh. I was supposed to be getting ready too, since we were going to head out to dinner. But I'd gotten distracted by the view. The next words out of my mouth were words I could have kicked myself for, but I couldn't stop them from escaping my lips.

“Those bitches must have been something special if you're flying them to Jamaica.” I could hear the jealousy dripping from my voice.