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I should’ve stopped him, but I was drunk and high and well past the point of caring about Priest’s poor financial decisions.
The DJ lost his mind. “They telling me section ten got free drinks for everybody tonight! Somebody tell me whose section that is?”
I went to grab Priest by his collar, but I wasn’t fast enough.
“Cardez motherfuckin’ Montague in the building!” Priest yelled over the railing. “My nigga’s getting married, show some fucking respect!”
Tariq and Zeke doubled over laughing. Even Yomi was shaking his head with a grin.
“Aw shit!” The DJ scratched the turntables, and the crowd went nuts when he started playing I get money by 50 Cent3.
“You wildin’,” I said to Priest, shoving him lightly.
He handed me another shot. “Drink and stop acting like an old ass man.”
The dudes in section twelve had mellowed out. Clearly, we’d won, and they weren’t happy about it. I peeped a couple of them whispering and giving us dirty looks.
One of them—a tall dude, wearing too many chains—had been grilling us hard since the DJ said my name.
Marco clocked it too. We might’ve been lit, but our situational awareness never fully turned off.
“You know them?” he asked quietly.
I watched the guy lean over and say something to his boys. A couple of them looked our way and laughed. “Nope. But he seems to know me.”
He broke away from his group and came to the edge of our section.
“Cardez Montague,” he said, eyeing me up and down. “I think we got somebody in common.”
“And you are?” I asked.
“Eric Jackson. I used to fuck with Belle years ago.”
The section went still. Marco straightened up and the rest of my guys got into position around me.
“You should probably leave, my guy,” Marco warned.
Eric grinned. “Shorty’s pussy is phenomenal, but she got sticky hands. I hope you got that prenup tight.”
This nigga had to be drunk out of his mind, because that’s the only reason he’d be bold enough to come over here talking about my woman.
Marco shifted beside me, but I was already moving.
Call it impulse, reflex, or straight up rage, but I was on Eric like white on rice.
I don’t even remember reaching for my piece. But I remembered the sound of the butt of the gun connecting with his jaw and the wet crack of metal against bone.
The second hit knocked the cheap golds out his trifling ass mouth and sent them skittering across the floor like dice.
Tariq came from behind and pulled me off of him. “Dez, chill!”
Fuck that. This nigga had Belle’s name in his mouth like she was a joke.
His boys were on their feet, looking like they wanted to start some shit. Mine already had their guns drawn and pointed, ready to light this place up.
“Sit the fuck down,” Yomi said to them calmly.
Tariq had me back on my feet but didn’t let go.
