Page 66 of Color Me Broken
“The fuck wrong with this nigga?” Kane said, pointing to Kenji, his eyes never leaving Tasha’s.
“Whoa, whoa!” Tasha gasped, grabbing the back of Kenji’s jacket. “Kenji, relax! Seriously! It’s okay.”
Mar let out a dry, mocking laugh. “Tasha went and got herself a Bruce Leeroy muthafucka. Look at this nigga. OleOnegaishimasuass nigga.”
“What y’all doin’ here?” Tasha asked, ignoring Mar's comment. “Is Niyah okay? Oh God…”
Sintonio took a deep breath, stepping forward toward Tasha. “No…no. It’s Jue. He in the back. Hit his head and just gotta get stitched up.”
Sintonio knew he wasn’t being completely honest. There was no way he was telling her how close Juelz had come to ending it. That truth would remain with the brothers. He damn sure wasn’t about to tell her Juelz wasn’t just getting patched up, but he was also being admitted on suicide watch. Hell no. That would go against the bro code. To reveal that Juelz has been at his lowest since she left in front of another man. He wasn’t about to do that. Ever.
Tasha shifted on her feet, looking around the emergency room. “I sure hate that about him,” she said, sarcastically.
Sintonio’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he looked at Tasha. “Really, Tash?—”
“Hey,” Kenji interrupted, his voice firm but laced with a heavy layer of concern. He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her back against his side before she could take another step.“We need to go, Tasha.” His eyes searched the three men. “Nice meeting you all, but… umm yeah, we got to go. Now, Tasha.”
Tasha looked at the double doors leading to the ER. At first, her heart felt as if it was being pulled in two directions. She could almost feel Juelz’s presence through the walls, calling out to her from a place of brokenness she knew all too well. But the way her own body was whispering, reminding her she had nothing left to give.
Tasha wrapped her arms around Kenji, turning her back to the lobby, the brothers, and the ghost of the man she once loved. To hell with him.
It was Saturday night,and the city was lit. Traffic crawled through downtown while expensive cars lined the city streets, and everybody who was somebody seemed to be outside tonight. The art show was being held in a glass building downtown with valet out front, red velvet ropes stretching across the entrance, and a clipboard at the door. This was definitely the type of place that didn’t accept walk-ins.
Tasha and Kenji stepped out of the black SUV and were immediately swarmed by paparazzi. Cameras flashed. Voices called out his name. But all eyes shifted when they sawher. She wore a floor-length emerald dress that hugged her curves just right, with a slit running high up her thigh, almost revealingtoo much. This wasn’t her lane. The lights. The cameras. The attention. All of it felt foreign.
But she was here.
Forhim.
Kenji placed a hand on the small of her back as they moved through the flashes.
“You good?” he murmured without looking at her, eyes forward like he was used to being watched.
Tasha nodded, but her heart was thumping. “I’m straight.”
She wasn’t. Not really. But she looked the part.
Inside, everything smelled like money and expensive taste. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling. Waiters floated around in black vests with trays of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres she couldn’t pronounce. The crowd was a blend of art collectors, athletes, models, and influencers, all mingling as they’d never struggled in their DNA.
Kenji leaned in close, lips brushing her temple.“Just follow my lead. You already killin’ ‘em.”
She smirked, nerves easing just a little. “Boy, I feel like I’m in an episode ofRich As Fuck.”
“That’s ‘cause you are,” he said, chuckling. “Only difference is you real.”
As they walked through the gallery, all heads turned. Everyone was trying to figure out who Tasha was. Small chatter could be heard in the distance, but they were unfazed. They stopped in front of a massive abstract piece, with blood-red paint slashed across a black canvas like violence frozen in time.
“What do you think it means?” he asked, taking a sip from his wine glass as he glared at the piece.
“Umm… I guess pain…I dunno,” she said softly. “Masked as power. Maybe…”
Kenji looked at her, amazed at her answer.
“That’s exactly what the artist said in the catalog,” he muttered. “You sure you don’t do this art shit on the low?”
She smirked again, adjusting her head wrap.
Before he could say more, Kenji’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it quick, jaw tightening just slightly.
