She kissed his head and then leaned the suitcase forward onto two wheels.
“Mo!”
With one kid on her hip and dragging one on the piece of luggage behind her, she stormed out the room.
Morgan was so angry she couldn’t even cry. She struggled with Yara and Messari and the luggage all the way down to Aria’s room. She wondered if this was what it would be like if she left Bash. If she would struggle balancing it all … if she would drop the ball with her twins because they would be fatherless. How much easier things would be if they had a father. Morgan’s lip trembled. When she opened the door to the suite, she flicked on the light.
“Shit! Mo!” Aria screamed, scrambling as she jumped off Isa. She was in the middle of a ride.
“Oh! Sorry!” Morgan sang as she dropped the luggage.
“Fuck you stop for? Mo know what dick look like. Keep going, Ali,” Isa groaned.
Morgan hurried her babies to the adjoining room as the soundtrack to Aria and Isa’s escapade filled the entire suite.
“Mommy, what’s that noise?” Messari asked.
“Auntie Aria is being a…” Mo turned away from her son to open her luggage. “Hoe,” she whispered to herself, chuckling.
“Her being a what, Mommy?” Messari asked. His little voice was so innocent, so curious. Morgan loved him. She looked at Yara, who, through all the fuss, was protected from the chaos because she couldn’t hear it.
“Nothing, baby.” She put headphones over his ears and changed them into pajamas as they watched their favorite cartoons. She took a special moment with Yara. “I love you, Yara Rae. You are always enough. You are loved. No more, no less than Ssari. You are equal, and I cherish you, Yolly Pop. Do you love Mommy too?” Morgan signed, tears accumulating in her eyes. It was all she had wanted to hear as a child, and she made sure that Yara heard it every day.
Yara signed, “Yes, Mommy. I love you.”
They were asleep in minutes.
Morgan’s mind was all over the place. She tossed and turned because she was unable to turn off her thoughts. Thoughts of Bash filled her mind. Fantasies of Ahmeek snuck in behind those. Then her fears. Fears of being alone. Fears of never finding love again. Fears of her children growing up the way she had, without a father to call their own. It was the number-one reason why she’d let things with Bash go on this long. He loved her children, and for a long time, that was enough. Her happiness didn’t matter. Then Ahmeek had come to London and messed everything up. He had made her feel those goddamn butterflies that her mother had told her about so long ago. Morgan had always been a hardheaded girl. She didn’t run from them. She chased them because, to her, the butterflies weren’t a warning sign—they signified love, and more than all else, Morgan Atkins wanted love. Morgan envied the rise and fall of her children’s tiny chests. She envied their peace. She promised herself she would always keep them that way. At peace. Morgan showered, hoping that the steam would entice her to sleep, but it only awakened her more. She dressed, throwing on jeans and a white V-neck T-shirt. The pair of heels she’d danced in were all she had with her. They would have to do.
I just need some air and some food, she thought.
She crept out of the room and saw the glow from a laptop from the couch.
“Hey?” Aria greeted. “I didn’t know you were still up. Are you okay?”
Morgan nodded.
“I’m fine. Just a bad argument with Bash. I’m sorry for interrupting,” Morgan said. “Hey, I need to clear my head. Do you mind watching the twins? They’re asleep. They won’t wake up. They normally sleep through the night.”
“Yeah, no problem,” Aria said. “I’m in for the night.”
Mo nodded. “Thanks.” She grabbed her handbag and one of the room keys off the table before walking out the door.
The casino floor was alive, even at the late hour. She waltzed through the rows and rows of machines, headed for the door. Out of the thousands of people in the building, she saw the one she wanted to avoid. Ahmeek, standing at the craps table near the exit. She thought of turning around, of just going up to her room and calling it a night, but when his eyes glanced up, it was like he had sensed her. It was like someone had whispered in his ear and said, “Yo, bruh, there’s Morgan.”
Morgan sucked in a deep breath, and her feet carried her to his side.
“Hey,” she greeted with a soft smile as she slid into the space next to him at the craps table. “You look like you’re getting lucky tonight.” She nodded at the girl beside him, and Meek smirked.
“Nah, I don’t pay to play,” he responded.
Morgan squinted and peeked over at the beautiful woman in the fire-red dress. She was nestled in tight beside Meek, who had a rackful of black chips in front of him. She was laughing, touching him lightly, whispering in his ear. Nothing about her screamed professional.
“Really?” Morgan whispered.
“Really.” Meek snickered. “She the type to get a nigga hemmed up out here. It’s a price tag on that.” Meek motioned toward the game. “You want to shoot something?”
Morgan shook her head. “I don’t know how,” she said. “Not in the mood. I’m just going to get some air.”
“Mo, it’s one in the morning. You don’t walk the strip by yourself this late,” he said. Meek turned to the dealers standing over the colorful table. “Color me up.”
Meek collected his chips and then led her to the cage of cashiers to retrieve his money.
“Risking fifty thousand on a dice game like it’s nothing, huh?” Mo asked as they walked away.
“It is nothing,” Meek answered.
Morgan scoffed. Ahmeek had come a long way. She remembered back in the day when she used to bend corners with Nish, she used to see him and the crew out on the block, trapping small dollars. Back then, she was sure every twenty-dollar bill counted. He had bossed up, and she could tell. Demeanor, pockets, crown … all three were heavy. Ahmeek was a king.
They stepped out into the desert air.
“Now, why are you awake? It’s like four a.m. back home,” Meek said.
She folded her arms across her chest, shrugging. “I had a fight with Bash,” she admitted. “He doesn’t like when I’m onstage.”
“When he met you, weren’t you dancing already?” Meek asked.
“My point exactly,” she stated. “I don’t want to talk about him, though.”
She leaned her head on his arm as they strolled down Las Vegas Boulevard. Even in the middle of the night, it was alive.
“I know that’s your man and all, but if he ever do anything out of order, he can get his tape pulled back real proper. Shit can get ugly over you. Anything, Morgan, and I’m dead fucking serious,” Meek stated.
Morgan lifted one side of her mouth in a halfhearted smile. “He wouldn’t. He’s not that guy, but thank you,” she said.
A drunk girl stumbled into her, and Morgan grimaced as beer spilled all over her shirt.
“I’m soooo sorry,” the girl said, an octave too loud and slurring. She reached for Mo’s breasts, trying to drunkenly wipe the wetness away with her bare hands.
“It’s okay,” Morgan said, lips pulled tight and forehead bent as she stepped toward the row of souvenir shops that lined the boulevard.
Meek grabbed a tourist shirt, and Morgan shook her head. “I guess that’s what happens when you’re the only sad and sober person on the strip. Can we go somewhere else? Somewhere quiet?”
She turned toward the counter where Meek was paying for his items. Her eyes fell on a swimsuit hanging behind the cashier. “We’ll take those too,” she said, pointing at the cheap, matching, two-piece bikini and swim trunks. “A large and an XL.” She grabbed six mini shots of Patrón. “These too.”
“Who’s swimming?” Meek asked, brows lifted in wonder. “And tequila ain’t good for a nigga, Mo. I get on another level off that shit.” He smirked and shook his head.
“We’re swimming—and good,” she said. Meek peeled off a hundre
d-dollar bill and grabbed the bag as Morgan led him back to their hotel.
They bypassed the action in the casino and went to the back of the popular resort.
“Yo, Mo, it’s closed. Pools in Vegas close at like six,” he said.
“That’s why we’re going to sneak in,” she answered. She grabbed the steel bars of the security fence. “Help me up.”
“You’re a real thug, huh?” he asked, smirking.
“You can smack a nigga, but you’re afraid to bypass a tiny sign and a locked gate?” she challenged. He shook his head and finessed the side of his face before bending down to create a bridge for her to put her foot in. He hoisted her up and over the gate before jumping it himself.
Morgan peeled out of her clothes instantly, stripping down to her bra and panties. Meek’s brow lifted, and he glanced away, being polite as Morgan changed into the two-piece swimsuit.
She tucked her clothes inside the plastic bag and grabbed a towel from the towel stand. She opened one of the mini bottles of tequila and tilted her head back as she drank it all. She grimaced as it heated her entire body. She reached for another and tossed it to Meek. “Your turn. Get changed. I’ll be in the hot tub,” she said, walking into the darkness with a second shot in her hand. Palm trees lined the pool area, and dim lights cast a small glow over the dark area. She pressed the button on the side of the massive hot tub and then slid her body inside. Her tension melted instantly. Morgan tilted her head back and wet her hair, then waited patiently for Meek to join her. Strong thighs and ugly feet are what she saw first as he approached. His body was incredible. His strong physique explained why he was able to break a nigga’s jaw with one punch. He was disciplined, always had been. While Messiah and Isa ran around terrorizing the city, Meek was a strategist; he was a thinker. He plotted his moves from A to Z. He was the one the opposition never saw coming. Smooth-ass Ahmeek. He slid into the hot tub.
“This feels amazing,” she groaned. He threw his arms over the side of the hot tub and peered at her as bubbles filled the space between them.
“Yo, the twins onstage tonight was legendary,” Meek said, snickering. “The crowd went crazy. I still can’t believe they belong to you.”
She beamed and shrugged. “Yep, all mine.”
He shook his head. “That body don’t look like a body that housed twins, Mo,” he returned.
She smirked, blushing, before shrinking farther into the water, up to her neck. He didn’t know the insecurities she carried over the weight she’d gained … over the weight Christiana constantly encouraged her to lose.
“It felt great. They loved it. Yara’s a little shy, but Messari…” She snickered, shaking her head. “That boy is a whole trip. He’ll do anything. He’s fearless.”
She knew where he’d gotten that spirit from. It was in his DNA to be kingly, to not fear anything or anyone walking on two legs. He was his father’s child. Mo saddened because things should have turned out so differently. Things could have been so beautiful. Once upon a time, they had been; now it was just lonely. She wasn’t living. She was just floating … being steered through life at someone else’s direction. Morgan had never been so unhappy. Even years ago, when she was a little girl, things had been better because at least then she had her sister to confide in. Morgan felt alone. She was drowning in a sea of unfulfillment. Except with Ahmeek … he was like a life raft. He was like a breath of fresh air. Ahmeek was like going home after being away and smelling your mama’s favorite dish as soon as you walked through the door. He gave her a nostalgic feeling she would never forget, bringing out a side of her that had only existed for a short moment in time before she had suppressed it. He made her feel beautiful and strong and wild and free. Like a butterfly.
“What you looking at, Mo? You looking but not talking. What’s in your head?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Just thinking. I go inside my head sometimes because I know if I spoke my thoughts, I’d seem ungrateful.”
“You won’t, so speak,” he ordered.
“I mean, I have everything. Every single luxury with Bash. I damn near live in a castle. His family’s name will be my name soon, and it’s powerful. Money, influence. I’m about to graduate and start med school. My babies are beautiful and healthy, Ethic and Alani are happy, they support me through everything. Bella and Eazy love on me, and I still feel like something’s missing. Like none of it is good enough. I’m not in love with him, Meek, and I’m about to marry him. I’m terrified.”
“So do something about it,” Meek shot back.
“I can’t,” she said, scoffing. She knew he wouldn’t understand. No one understood. Hell, Morgan didn’t even understand. She was simply a girl who had always needed a man to love her. First her father, then Ethic, then Messiah, on to Bash. She needed to pull strength from men. Needed them to hold her up. Bash believed in her so much that it made her believe in herself. He was in a lot of ways her best friend. God, he’s the perfect friend. But her husband, he was never meant to be. How he had snuck out of the friend zone and trapped her in his world, she didn’t know, but Morgan felt like she were living behind the constraints of a glass wall. Like that royal palace was a prison. Like she was a pretty picture on display at a museum and Bash wanted all his family and friends to come see his new art piece.
“You can, Mo. He’s your kids’ father, not your master. When you ready to step, you let me know,” Meek answered.
“What you gon’ do, Ahmeek? If I step?” she asked.
“You ain’t gon’ step, so it don’t matter.” He snickered.
Morgan bent her brows at him in offense. “I’m about that life. Don’t act like you’ve never seen me act up,” she said, rolling her eyes.
He laughed at that. He remembered. He remembered every single tantrum she’d ever thrown. He licked his lips and leaned his head back as he looked up into the night sky.
He felt something hit his chest, and he lifted to see her coming across the hot tub.
“Sorry.” She laughed, fishing the mini Patrón bottle she’d thrown at him out of the water. She twisted the top and held it to her lips, only taking half before lifting it to his mouth. “Open up.”
“You’re trouble as fuck, Mo,” he said.
“I’m not. I’m a good girl, Ahmeek,” she answered. She sat beside him and turned to face him.
“No lies told there,” he said.
“You love me, don’t you?” she said playfully.
“No lies told there either,” he repeated.
Morgan steeled. Her heart. Her words. Her eyes. On his. She couldn’t breathe. “Meek, you’re on the outside looking in. You don’t know me enough to love me. You just see a pretty girl.”
“Everybody sees a pretty girl, Mo. That’s the obvious. They probably even see the weak girl. I see the strong girl. I see the bitch in you, Mo. The part you keep tucked, but the fire that’s trying to start that lives in the deepest part of you. It’s flickering, and it just can’t catch because you won’t let it, but I see it. Little Morgan got the power to burn the whole damn kingdom down. There’s a fire in you. You’re a fighter, Mo.”
Morgan’s eyes prickled. No one had ever described her that way. She didn’t even see herself that way. How could he? How could he think she was strong?
“You were in my life every day, Mo. Couldn’t touch you, couldn’t have you, but you were there. You walked by me every day. I don’t even know if you noticed how you stopped a nigga heart. I saw you smile every day. Every fucking single day … the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. That’s hard on a nigga. Being in your presence but not being present. Putting all that in a box so I wouldn’t do no disrespectful shit. You weren’t mine. Any other nigga and I would have snatched you, but Messiah was my brother, and he needed you more. It just wasn’t shit to be done. No moves to be made. You were with my nigga, so the shit I felt couldn’t exist. I shut the shit down, but some of the shit that has run through my mind about you…” Meek paused, shaking his head. “I have no bus
iness thinking about you like that.”
Morgan was speechless. She hadn’t known that he felt like that back then. Even if she had, it wouldn’t have mattered because at the time she only saw one man, but hearing the words from Meek now made her feel sick to her stomach. Morgan lifted out of the hot tub and sat on the edge. She gripped the lip of the cement and shook her head.
“I’m not perfect, Meek. You only feel that way because you don’t know the fucked-up shit about me. I’m spoiled and selfish. I’m a handful.”
“Handful or not, you’re love, Morgan Atkins. Just looking at you right fucking now is love. You and love … the same … it’s just who you are. I feel the shit every time you place those fucking eyes on me. You just drive a nigga crazy. Have a nigga ready to air shit out if your smile dip even a little bit. Your smile dips around him, Mo, and my trigger finger starts itching. So like I said, when you ready to step, you let me know.”
Morgan sucked in air, holding her breath at the conviction she heard in his voice. Morgan leaned back to get the bag that was within arm’s reach. Another shot. She needed another shot. She tilted it to her lips, and then Meek stood and walked between her thighs as she poured the rest into his mouth.
She placed both hands on the sides of his face, and her heart fluttered as he captured her in that gaze, in that dark place behind his eyes.
“You got to stop touching me, Mo.” The way he said it, like he was struggling, like there was yearning in him, like the pads of her fingertips were unbearable torture against his skin.
His toned body lifted out of the water slightly, biceps flexed, abs tensed, as he fisted her wet hair with one hand. He kept her there, trapped in his gaze, a breath away as he took in every inch of her face. Neither spoke; the tension in the air labored her breaths. She could hear her heart racing in her ear, and then he kissed her. He kissed her like he didn’t need permission, like he knew she would consent. The tension between them had been building since London, and they both wanted to cross a line that a dead man had drawn in the sand.
Morgan’s body exploded. TNT. A fucking demolition erupted in her as her heart raced and their lips danced. She could feel years of wanting in this kiss. Fireworks, a full display, erupting, one after another each time his full lips enveloped hers. They were soft and thick, and his tongue was skilled and sweet. Morgan moaned it as her forehead collapsed in wrinkles, and her back arched. Guilt, lust, desperation filled her as she opened her mouth, accepting it all, again and again because damn, Ahmeek tasted sooooo good. He was dominant and strong and a whole fucking goon, and Morgan felt dizzy. His touch made her light-headed. She was high, and it felt familiar. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed being with a man in position until now. Different dog, same breed. Aggressive. The type of man that had some bite behind his bark, and Morgan knew just how to tame him. He traveled down the interstate of her body, lips everywhere, tongue everywhere. Her neck. She gasped, her collarbone … a kiss … her sternum … who the fuck kissed there? Ahmeek. Ahmeek kissed there before sliding a finger along the seam of her bikini top, peeling it back to reveal her taut nipple. Her breath caught as he tasted there, pulling it into his mouth, circling once with his tongue before dipping farther. He was unafraid of her depths, unafraid of her wet as he slid her bikini bottom to the side. Morgan’s mind went to the tattoo that used to be there. Messiah’s name. She had branded it because she had thought it would always belong to him. Tiny butterflies covered it now, but Morgan still felt like Meek could see behind them. Like the butterflies were mad with invisible ink and Messiah’s name was staring back at Meek. Morgan tensed. He paused, kissing the face of her intimacy and then placing steepled hands in front of him.
Butterfly Page 19
