In the Gray

by B.B. Reid

“It’s Tanisha,” the waitress corrected. “It could be Tina fucking Turner, and you’d still be out of line. It’s a damn table, girl. It’s not that serious. Go get us our usual and hurry the fuck up.”

Roc had rich brown skin, long lashes, chestnut eyes, a thick patch of hair adorning his chin, a thin mustache and beauty mark above his thick lips, and enough waves in his close-cut hair to make you seasick.

Like Golden, Roc was taller and bigger than his younger self, with the same mischievous glint from the photo. Each time my gaze fell on his image, I couldn’t help returning his infectious grin and feeling the same pull growing in my chest now. My gaze traveled to Golden, who was staring out the window like we weren’t even here—like he hadn’t followed me to this diner.

My mama had always said my stubbornness would be my downfall.

I was almost fascinated as I watched his lips move. His mouth was downright sinful, which was a shame since he didn’t seem to use it much. Or maybe he found better ways to put it to use.

“Aye, you rude as fuck, you know that?” He was scowling now, all trace of humor and goodwill gone as he stared me down. “I want to know because Golden said he saw you scoping our place of business like you the Feds or something.”

“And in case you’re wondering, that shit isn’t rhetorical. I’ll blow your fucking kneecap off if I don’t like your answer.” I cleared my throat, forcing the tremble from my voice before I allowed myself to speak. “I’m supposed to believe you’ll shoot me in front of all these people?”

I took one look at the suspicious-looking meat sandwiched between the brioche bun and pushed the plate away. Roc cackled when he saw my nose turned up and was back to grinning and looking partially sane. “It’s chicken, baby girl, I promise you. And I was kidding about Tanya spitting in your food. She got rocks for brains, but she ain’t suicidal.”

“You said you needed a job, right? Then it matters, so consider this an interview. And, baby girl?” At the answering rise of my brows, he said, “You better impress me because you won’t get another.”

Savannah was this semi-famous biracial Instagram model with good pussy and even better head. That was about as much as I cared to know about her. “I need to talk to you,” she said. She’d been messaging me that bullshit all week. “You can’t avoid me forever.”

Seven years ago, Roc, Golden, Joren, and I had pooled our ill-gotten funds together to buy and restore this old factory, and Pride of Kings was born. Going legit had its ups and downs, but it beat being carried by six or judged by twelve.

I’d never had a girlfriend—ever. I definitely wasn’t claiming someone who had my dick down her throat within five minutes of meeting me. It wasn’t even how fast Savannah let me use her body that turned me off. I didn’t play games, so I admired a confident woman who went for what she wanted. It was how little respect she’d been willing to accept from me in return.

I had no problem slapping grown men around like bitches, but violence against women was a hard fucking pass for me.

I searched my memory for her name but came up short and decided I didn’t care. I wanted to greet her as soon as she arrived so I could get her ass to work immediately and warn her not to piss me off.

Tuesday was one of the first people we’d hired after our business took off and one the few people whose ass I never had to get in since she possessed two of my favorite Ps—proficiency and proactiveness. Some might say she took her job a little too seriously, but I appreciated that shit. I made sure to show it, too, with a fat bonus at the end of every year.

Joren and I had become friends when we were nine. He’d found me getting jumped by some older kids from Unity Garden and helped me fuck them up. There had been no questions asked when he came to my aid, and we’ve been best friends—brothers—ever since.

Roc had grown up in Unity Garden to the north and Golden in Hooker’s Cove to the east. Together, we cut down anyone in our path, taking power, wealth, and whatever the fuck we wanted until the city had no choice but to bow.

“Rowdy, please tell me you did not assault another employee.” “All right.” I shrugged. “I won’t tell you that.” Crossing my arms, I leaned against Joren’s desk, who promptly closed his eyes and rested his head against the desk.

“First, tell me who you heard it from so I can fuck them up too.” “This isn’t a laughing matter,” he fussed. “Do you want another lawsuit? Or maybe an assault charge this time? I swear I’ll stand as a witness this time if Tony does press charges. Actions have consequences, and despite what you believe, young man, you aren’t untouchable. You’re a businessman, not some aimless street hooligan. It’s time you behaved like a grown-up.”

Looming at the counter was this Mannie Fresh lookalike who, judging by the girth of his stomach, must have eaten grown men whole for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

“Well, like I said—” The blow I sent to his gut cut him off mid-sentence. “What was that?” I taunted as I pulled my nine from my ankle holster and proceeded to pistol-whip his ass. “Huh? I can’t hear you, big homie. Can you repeat that? You not gone pay who?”

The wind shifted, bringing the intoxicating scent of oranges and vanilla. It cut through the chemicals polluting the city, the copper smell of blood leaking from Miller, and the motor oil and exhaust clinging to my clothes and skin.

Queen. My entire body seemed to tremble as adrenaline coursed through me, and my body’s temperature plunged to terrifying depths, making my skin tighten and bumps appear along my arms. It took me a moment longer to realize that was a first-ever chill creeping down my fucking spine.

Her head cocked to the side curiously, and suddenly, I was contemplating some wild shit—like asking for her name and number.

My reaction to this girl was something I could honestly say I’d never experienced before. I couldn’t put a name on it, which made me trust the feeling even less.

Even her deep brown skin had a baby-soft glow to it, and I licked my lips as I imagined sucking and fucking and abusing every one of her holes.

wanted to snatch her nosy ass up before she realized she was staring down the mouth of a lion and disappeared forever. The fuck?

Even though that phantom voice from before warned me this moment was crucial, I only spared a second to think about what I would say to her, what my first words to this unknown girl who had provoked such a visceral reaction from me would be before I let them free. “What the fuck are you looking at?”

His breathtaking features—medium-brown skin, unusually bright eyes, thick eyebrows with a diagonal line purposely cut in each, full lips framed by a short-boxed beard, neat and intricate cornrows pulled back and secured at his crown while the sides and back of his fine grade hair were shaved into a hide fade—became distinct with each step that brought him closer until there was no doubt in my mind about who he was. Rowdy Wray.

“You got a lot of mouth, little girl.” I’d lost my virginity years ago, but I was still too slow to recognize the sensuous drop in his tone before it was too late, before he grabbed my hips in a punishing grip and yanked me to him. “I might just stick my dick in it.”

“How old are you?” “Why?”

I didn’t understand how his touch could be so rough, the deep massage driving me to the tips of my toes until I had no choice but to cling to him for support, yet feel better than any sensation I’d ever felt. He was thorough too.

“Because I want to fuck you,” Rowdy eventually confessed. His deep voice dripped sex instead of malice now. “Today. Now. Five fucking minutes ago if you hadn’t distracted me with your fucking mouth.” I could feel his lips grazing my neck softly before he lifted his head to meet my gaze. “Why else?”

“Hate me all you want, beautiful. I’ll still make you come.” There was no trace of arrogance in his claim, only a simple statement of facts, which might have been the reason I found myself believing him. Staring at him while he distractedly searched the area, I realized his eyes weren’t hazel as I’d originally guessed but green. “Come on.”

“If you want me to believe you don’t want to be fucked,” he told me in a tone that promised sex, “you’re going to have to lie better than that.”

“How the fuck do you know her?” my green-eyed monster and secret obsession snapped. Roc sighed like he already knew what his friend’s reaction would be and mumbled, “This is Atlas. The girl I told you about? She’s our new receptionist.” It then occurred to me that Rowdy had never bothered to learn my name.

“How old are you?” “Nineteen,” she grumbled while purposely avoiding my gaze. “You’s a goddamn lie. You told me you were fourteen.” “Because you were trying to fuck me behind a dumpster, you psycho! I told you I didn’t want to, but that didn’t seem to matter to you, so I lied, okay?” “No, motherfucker. Not okay. How do we know you aren’t lying now?”

My hostile demeanor, however, crumbled like dried leaves under her heel when she placed her small hands on my forearm in a grip I could easily break but didn’t. I cast a pointed glance at her hands on my arm and then at her, but she didn’t let go. Atlas tightened her grip.

Her hands were soft as shit. I’d known that from holding them earlier, but having her touch me willingly was a different kind of pleasure. I wondered what they’d feel like wrapped around my dick…stroking.

“Take your hands off me before I break ‘em,” I coldly ordered.

“You want this job? Fine. You’re hired. But I won’t be held responsible for what happens if you stay.”

It means I’ll be balls-deep in that pussy by the end of the week if you don’t get away from me now.

I found myself stuck as I drank in the sight of her through the panoramic window separating the workshop from the lobby until she noticed me staring, and her smile dropped.

I didn’t do missionary, but Atlas had me considering slow-stroking her pussy while I stared deep into her eyes on some sucker-for-love shit.

It wasn’t like I would force myself into a skin that didn’t fit just to fuck one girl. There were too many willing pussies out there for me to bother with a fickle one.

“You don’t see it, do you?” he whispered, voice raspy from disuse. “See what?”

There wasn’t a man alive I feared, but sometimes, I wondered if Golden’s mutism allowed him to see more than most—more than you wanted him to.

every move, I would have squeezed it into submission. When Atlas was done with her training, she’d be facing the workshop where I could look at her pretty face all goddamn day. My station was at the end of the middle aisle closest to the window, so there would be nothing to block my view of her and vice versa.

I put stingy Atlas and her stuck-up pussy and cryptic Golden and his endless weirdness out of my mind to focus on a task I could actually conquer.

Each time I tried to excuse her sudden detachment as grief, I’d remember our last fight. Her last words echoed among the rubble of everything I’d known. I know you are, Atlas, and that’s the problem. I thought it would be enough.