Sebastian: You knew I was on my way to the club and your ass just up and left? Oh, and I know you showed up here with some bitch on your arm too, you disrespectful bastard.
“What the fuck?” I said aloud.
“What’s wrong?” Paris asked.
“Sebastian’s jealous ass, that’s what’s wrong,” I huffed.
“Damn, Rio, you must have put it on him.” Sasha jumped into our conversation.
“I did.” I smiled devilishly and rotated my hips, making them both laugh. “Well, I gotta go to the restroom, and then I might as well call his ass. I’ll be back.”
I made my way around the dance floor, so busy dialing Sebastian’s number that I bumped into a guy near the bathroom entrance. “Sorry,” I mumbled, heading into the men’s room. By now, I’d called Sebastian four times, and he’d sent me to voicemail each time. On the fifth try, he finally answered.
“What the fuck do you want, Rio?”
“I want to know what hell those texts were about.”
“You pretty motherfucker, don’t you dare question me like I did something wrong and not you. What the fuck?” Sebastian yelled.
“First of all, I haven’t done nothing wrong, so I don’t know what bug crawled up that tight ass of yours, but you need to pull it out and calm the hell down,” I replied. I didn’t know what had him so upset. “Now, use your big-boy words and talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about now. The time for us to talk would’ve been when you showed up at my club all boo’d the fuck up with some bitch, kissing and shit. Then, when my people tell you I’m on the way, you get up and leave before I can get there. What the fuck was that all about?”
I pulled the phone way from my ear for a second as if he would be able to see the crazy look on my face. “Sebastian, what the hell are you talking about? I’m not in Miami. I’m in New York.” I leaned against the wall near the bathroom sinks.
“Whatever, Rio.” Sebastian sighed. “Don’t fucking call me no more, ’cause your ass is officially cut off.”
“Wait, what?” He sounded serious. “But I didn’t do shit.”
“Keep telling yourself that shit,” Sebastian replied. “And you and your bitch owe me a thousand dollars for that bottle of Ace of Spade. Bye, Felicia.” He ended the call.
My emotions were all over the place. I was confused, angry, and most of all hurt. I really liked Sebastian. We had a good time together, not to mention he was cute, always dressed to impress, and was damn good in bed. Plus, we had a lot in common, seeing as how he was a club owner who sold and distributed drugs on the side—just like me. Even skeptical Paris thought we were a perfect match.
“That’s him right there,” I heard someone say.
I looked up from my phone just as some dudes approached me. I recognized the guy I’d bumped into on my way into the bathroom. He was with a couple of beefy brothas who looked like they ate steroids for breakfast.
“You sure that’s him, Theo? This dude looks like he’s got a little sugar in his tank,” one guy said, stepping up.
“Yeah, that’s him,” Theo replied. “I used to play ball with his ass down by Yankee Stadium.”
The angry-looking guy in the middle stepped closer, crowding my space, and then so did his two friends. If I thought about exiting, they had just made it impossible.
“I had a feeling your bitch ass was gonna show up here since your boy was deejaying. I hear you got something that belongs to me,” the angry giant said.
“Obviously you’re not talking to me,” I said, shaking my head.
“You damn right I’m talking to you, motherfucker.” He stepped so close I could smell the hot sauce on his breath. He was taller than me, standing a little over six feet, and he was built like he knew how to fight and so did his boys. “You think you could sneak around and fuck my girl and get away with it? Well, you was wrong!”
“Mister, I don’t know you or your girl.” I almost laughed at his accusation. “You must have me confused with someone else. I definitely ain’t fuck nobody’s girl, trust me. I’m on a whole ’nother team.”
We were now standing face to face. I tensed up, sensing that something was about to pop off, and whatever it was, it was not going to be good. I wasn’t Paris or Sasha, but I had enough training to take this guy out. However, I knew I couldn’t take all three, so I was going to have do this diplomatically.
“Where is she?” he snapped in my face.
I was so busy wondering who the hell his chick was that before I knew it, his hands were wrapped around my throat, choking the shit out of me. I gasped to breathe and swung at his face in an effort to free myself from his grip. My fist connected with his jawline, but instead of loosening like I wanted, his fingers tightened. I decided to choose another course of action and kneed him in the stomach. He released my neck, and we began to scuffle.
I got in a few good blows but then he reached behind his back. It was time to get the hell out of there, but before I could take a step, he had a steel blade pressed against my neck.
“I’m gonna ask you this one more time. Where the fuck is Kandace?” He applied some pressure on the knife. The thought of it piercing my skin had me scared to death. My heart raced as I stared into his eyes and saw anger and hatred. This guy was about to kill me. This was it. This was how I was going to die—in the bathroom of a fucking nightclub in Harlem, all because this motherfucker thought I screwed some chick named Kandace. Ain’t
