Page 206 of The Coldest: Stay Dangerous Part 2

Rico

According to my phone, I’ve been sitting at this table for three hours, and eight minutes.

Luxe, the club Snow’s album release party was held, closed an hour and fourteen minutes ago. She should have been home.

But she’ll be here, so I wait. My lips twitch periodically, thinking about her. Her debut album is fire. I expect it to debut on the top of the charts. Her singles stay dominating every social media platform music can be played.

She did it. She accomplished everything she set out to. If she decided to quit today, she’d still have the legacy she wanted, stamped in this industry. Her mixtapes have always been praised, and she was able to carry that into a true body of work. A cohesive album.

Though I’m beyond proud, I’m hardly surprised. Snow has always been able to excel at whatever she sets her mind to. She has no limit. Nothing can bring her down, not even herself.

Her elevator dings, and my hand goes to my piece on the table by instinct. If she brought a nigga home on some get back, I’d have to go back on my word and kill yet another nigga ‘cause she wanna play up.

Two steps, from heels, before silence. But only one set, so I know she’s alone. Some movement, before quiet steps coming closer, getting a little louder.

There she is.

My Snow.

She rolls her eyes, but I see the small strike of fear that comes with the unknown. I’ve been gone for a few days, handling something for Asa in exchange for Isaiah’s info. I couldn’t step into this new chapter with any loose ends I could control. Besides, I can’t risk any of them First Nations niggas looking too close and figuring out I’ve been around a few times under different names until we’re stamped.

She walks to the counter and places her purse and gun down, before folding her arms. She’s still upset, but we have more pressing matters to attend to.

So I stand, intent on coming to her.

“Three hundred and sixty-five days, twenty-two hours, and thirteen minutes, Snow.”

Her eyes flit to the scar on my eye. Her lovetap. I hum thoughtfully, wondering if she’d ever let me play with her how I want. She’s healed now, a clean bill of health from her neurosurgeon. And most of all, I think she’d have more fun than I would.

Her phone begins to vibrate in her purse, and she reaches for it.

Before I could form a thought, the barrel of my gun is pressed at her temple. Who the fuck is interrupting my time with her? I gave her a year; she should have tied up loose ends like I did.

“You gon’ answer that?”

She meets my gaze, answering her phone and pressing it to her other ear.

It’s a man’s voice. Snow surrounds herself with niggas who would do anything for her. The Helen of Troy of Kenton.

She tells whoever she’s going to bed. I hear the nigga tell her goodnight, and I press the barrel harder on the side of her face as I grab her phone and end the call for her.

“I couldn’t say goodnight?” she snaps.

My hand cups the side of her jaw, my thumb lifting her head so that we’re inches apart.

“You know the answer to that.”

“Why are you here, Richard?”

Still defiant. I fight to keep the smirk off my face, so she doesn’t accuse me of laughing at her. Usually, I’d be down for the back and forth, but not tonight. Not when it’s my time.

“I told you,” I say, my hand moving to the back of her neck, “it’s been three hundred, sixty-five days. What did I tell you would happen?”

Turning on the safety, I lean down even more until our lips touch. “Huh? What did I tell you, Snow?”

She’s taking too long to answer. My hand fists her hair, and then I see it.

Pupils dilated. Pure, unadulterated energy flowing, bouncing from her to me. Only I can get her like this, just like only she can make my mask of control slip without my permission.