Page 38 of Love, DRMC
“Yeah that’s right. I have plenty more where they came from. But I’d be happy to get rid of them if you don’t appreciate my, or my little friends’, particular level of genius.” He smirks.
“Oh I cannotwaitfor that man to get all fucked up over a woman,” Rhodie murmurs under his breath, the rest of us who heard him agreeing.
“Mark my words, it’ll be sooner rather than later,” Jules adds, staring down Rider and his goofy grin.
“I have two words for you Rider,” Marx says, hitting Rider with his gaze. “You’ll. Keep.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says cockily. “Are we almost done? I have an, um, appointment to get to.”
“Oh yeah,” Gus mutters. “He’s going down.”
A slow smile grows on Marx’s face. “Of course. An appointment. I better let you get going.” He bangs his fist on the wall behind him twice. “Church over!”
We all stand and make our way through the Church doors, Switch beelining for Joy who is sitting with the Ol Ladies, head tipped back, laughter tinkling out of her at some weird shit Chewy has said. Or Mira. It could go either way with those two.
Nat’s gaze catches mine and she walks toward me, hips swaying with every step, thick thighs rubbing. “Hey honey,” she whispers, pressing her lips to mine.
I grip her ass, pulling her in a little tighter as I kiss her again, never getting enough of her.
“What was that for?” she asks when she pulls away.
“Oh nothing, just glad that you’re mine.”
She smiles up at me, “Smooth. Real smooth. But that is not why you were grinning when you left Church.” She raises a brow. Fuck she can read me like a book.
“I was just happy for my brothers. Almost every one of us has found the perfect Ol Lady. And it looks like Switch isn’t far off.” I tip my head to Switch as he speaks softly to Joy. Which is fucking shocking of the big, loud ginger.
“What about Rider?”
“Oh don’t you worry about him, baby. I have a feeling he’s going to be knocked on his ass by one hell of a woman sooner rather than later.”
He deserves a good woman, and I cannot wait to watch him fall.
Epilogue II
Annie-Bella
Ihesitate outside my childhood bedroom door. I never thought I’d be back here. When I left the DRMC to go to school I did so thinking I was heading out into the world for good, only coming home for holidays or special occasions. And now I’m home for good. Back at the compound, back with my parents, my uncles, my aunts, andhim.
Every year that I was here, on Valentine’s Day he would leave me a gift. Artfully wrapped, a simple card attached, left on my pillow. I grew to look forward to them, to see what the gift would be. When I left for school and later, to start my big corporate life, the gifts stopped. I admit, I missed them. Even when I had a boyfriend who gave me teddy bears and flowers I missed those simple gifts, wrapped with care instead of stuffed into a gift bag. I missed the simple card that was void of hearts and flowery text.
Rolling my eyes at myself I push through my bedroom door, now decorated more to my style since I’ve come home as a grown woman having given up the life I dreamed about. A life that turned into a nightmare. Now all I want is familiarity. Safety.
I flick on my bedside lamp and my breath catches when I see it. On my pillow, a small gift, wrapped precisely, with a card tucked beneath it. Reaching out I stroke it as tears blur my vision. I can tell from the size and the shape exactly what it is. Picking it up in shaky hands I unwrap the gift carefully, not wanting to tear the paper, revealing bright white, the points of the crown glinting in the lamp light. She’s heavy in my hand, a solid weight, grounding me, just like the man who gifted me her. Reverently, I place the queen chess piece with the others I have been gifted over the years. I don’t know why I decided to display the incomplete chess set on my shelf, but I’m glad I did, my queen fits perfectly with the rest. My eyes find the card and I pick it up, running a finger under the flap, and gently taking out the plain card. I know exactly what it will say. That same thing it always says.
Opening it, my vision blurs. There, in Chess’s neat, all capitals handwriting are the four words that are written on my soul, and have been since I was 12 years old.
“You see the good.”
