What did I get myself into? Mustafa thought with a poker face.
He trusted his heart to gauge whether he was doing the right thing. He rolled the dice by driving a stranger home. Not just a stranger; a woman who was out cold by hits of liquor. He thought long and hard to crap out by declining the favor, but he took a gamble to cash out his loyalty to Niccolo. He betted on himself after proving his worth to the club. He also thought Niccolo was crazy for trusting his woman, who was sleep and intoxicated, in the care of another man; the perfect equation for a creep who thought with his dick. A good number of guys slithered their way into sex with forked tongues by rolling snake eyes to betray someone's trust – the type to lose a good name at the end.
But Mustafa knew better.
The GPS took Mustafa to the loft. Niccolo's rest. He parked in front of the entrance when the doorman ran outside and waved him down.
Mustafa's instincts told him to reach under the seat for a gun and shoot. Logic told him to wait. Reason told him to ask questions to see if the guy was harmless.
The doorman walked over to the driver side and asked, "Are you Mister Moretti's guest?"
"Yes, I am," Mustafa dryly replied.
"Good. He told me to give you access to park in the garage." The tall, dark skinned doorman who sported a hi-top fade from the 1980s pointed to the entry. "Just drive through and park wherever. Press the silver button once you reach the exit so I can buzz you in. I'm going to call Mister Moretti and let him know to unlock his apartment door."
Mustafa raised his left eyebrow as he skated off to the garage. He spiraled around until he saw a good place to park, thanking the Most High for finding a spot by the exit.
He opened the back door of the Jeep and leaned forward. He used his legs to lift Katt from the backseat so he wouldn't sprain his back. He lifted her from the seated row and cradled her out the vehicle. Remembering that both arms were occupied, he locked the automated door from the key chain with his thumb while using the crook of his arm as a headrest.
He tried to act normal while carrying a woman in a blanket. She appeared dead to the naked eye – a situation he feared. He dipped his shoulder to reach for the silver button to alert the doorman to buzz him in. He managed to press the button while holding his grip, glad as hell that he didn't drop her.
He pushed his back against the door to open it after the doorman buzzed him in. As he looked down the hallway, he saw that the joint was eerily quiet. Not a soul in sight. The last thing he needed was someone assuming he was carrying a dead woman. He hated court dates as much as he hated funerals and trips the dentist.
As he walked down the lighted hallway, he saw the elevator door open. His mind boggled. His heart skipped a beat. He debated on whether he should turn and walk away. He rolled with the punches by taking a few steps forward. He locked eyes with a smiling woman as she held the elevator for him.
"Going up?" She held the door while pulling her pitbull away from Mustafa.
"Yes." Mustafa looked away as stepped inside the elevator. "Thirteenth floor, please."
She pressed "13" and asked, "Rough night, huh?"
Mustafa stared at the elevator door. "Yeah."
"What did she drink?"
"Liquor."
"What kind of liquor?"
"Straight Liquor."
The woman thought he was weird as the elevator reached her floor. "Cool. That's my favorite, too."
She stepped out the elevator and said, "Good night."
