Page 117 of The Coldest: Stay Dangerous Part 2

She lays the outfit onto the bed then turns toward me, lowering her shades. Another reason for her nickname is from her almond-shaped eyes. Her irises are nearly black, and together with her warm brown complexion, she looks otherworldly.

Maybe if she wasn’t batshit crazy, she’d resemble a fairy instead of a demon.

“Can you give us the room?” Dori turns toward YT, who is sitting cross-legged on the floor by her charger.

She tilts her head. “No.”

“She’s not paying attention to us, Dori. Plus Grime knows her, so she’s cool.”

Dori blows another huge bubble in her gum before she shrugs. Taking off her glasses, she hangs one temple inside her shirt. A smile spreads on her red stained lips as she takes me in.

“Your husband said he dragged you to rehab, too,” I smirk.

Dori’s face balls up immediately, making me laugh. It’s been so many years and they both act like they hate each other.

“‘Dragged’ is an exaggeration. That nigga threatened to cut me off and divorce me if I kept hanging with Catalina, and didn’t go, so I went. I could stop at any time, but it was a vacation away from his ass. Soon as I got back I played with my lighters. You saw his hair?” She grins, her cute gap showing as she wiggles her eyebrows.

“Oh! You like fire, too?” YT asks, perking up.

Dori folds her arms. “I thought you weren’t paying attention.”

“I wasn’t. You seemed boring, especially when Wyn told me you were married to the one with the chin tattoo. But I stand corrected.” YT shrugs.

Dori smiles, a genuine one since she loves any type of compliment. “Well, I’ll tell you all about how I met my husband while I get this wig together. Which one, Wynter Snow?”

There’s a blonde and a black one on the bed, and a ruddy orange one dangling from her nail. As soon as my eyes snap to it, she shakes it and squeals.

“I knew I picked right! Try on the clothes. Come on, Tall Bae!”

YT grunts as she stands and rushes past me to go into the bathroom. They close the door, muffling Dori’s animated voice as she launches into her favorite story to tell.

I peel off the hotel robe and let it fall to the floor. Dori thought of everything, all different kinds of body butters and oils and shimmers on the dresser of the bedroom. Technically, she’s head of A&R at Get Money Records, but an incident involving a rapper led Sheisty to ban her from working with anyone but me. Whenever I ask what happened, everyone, even Shaddy, acts like they don’t know.

I dip my fingers into the gold shimmery body butter that smells like vanilla and begin rubbing it all over my shoulders, arms, and chest. My tattoos grow more vivid the more I put on, but I decide at the last minute not to rub it all the way in, letting the butter air dry while I fiddle with the capri pants that go with the top.

The fabric feels soft, and once I hop a few times, it stretches and molds to my legs, the scrunched crease cuffing my ass crack. I’m sure these pants are from a regular clothing store; the statement piece is the top, definitely. I’ve been seeing the designs all over social media; someone out of the city making fashions using bandana print. I don’t really understand why this has picked up, since it’s not exactly innovative, but Dori’s always on top of the latest trends.

The top is a powder blue, the bandana print outlined in metallic silver and raised on the fabric. Styled like a bandeau, there’s a knot in the middle, the straps sewn together on the back, so I just pull it from my feet up until the starched cups of the top sit on my titties perfectly.

The kitten heels on the floor match perfectly with the top. My white painted toes, courtesy of the hotel salon, glide into the thongs.

As I turn toward the mirror, the bathroom door opens, Dori’s head peeking out and nodding appreciatively. “Yeah, the ginger bob is gonna go great with the blue. Put on the robe and get that ass in here, hot mama!”

Dori isn’t my regular hairstylist but she can still slay some hair. Unlike the other wives of important men in the First Nations, she comes from very humble beginnings, and learned to be resourceful from an early age, like me. I would say our lives mirror each other, now that I think about it. Even down to the volatile relationship.

I braid my hair down into the neatest braids I can in a short amount of time. Rico calls me, but I ignore the call and quickly text him that I’ll talk to him later.

He hearted the message I sent earlier about getting a show, but we haven’t spoken much today. An errant thought about who he’s been around tries to form, but I bat it away instantly. I’ve never, never in my life, been that type of jealous bitch. Even when I was going back and forth with Set, it was more of a game than anything. Auty would always try me over how I was acting, but she didn’t know all the shit Set would do whenever he heard of a nigga getting too close to me.

Damn. I miss my dawg.

But anyway, I refuse to even let my blood pressure rise because of Rico. Even if he is a ho. He has a broken nose and two black eyes; surely he’d have enough sense to not be up in a bitch’s face, speaking Spanish to them.

Right?!

“You good, Wyn?” YT asks, leaning into the mirror as her eyes zero in on me.

That’s when I notice my face is balled up, and my hand is shaking as I clutch my phone.