"Lock this in the glove box, Quis."
Desmond handed his best friend, Marquis, a Glock 19.
"We won't need this shit tonight, my boy works here. He got us." Marquis confirmed, adding his Beretta to the glovebox before closing and locking it.
From the passenger seat, Marquis reached into the backseat and grabbed a black Louis Vuitton backpack. He removed 8 stacks of one-dollar bills, totaling eight hundred dollars, and handed half of them to Desmond, who slipped two of each into the pockets of his jeans. Marquis did the same.
"I already know you finna blow all that." Desmond laughed at his friend. He knew how his friend was when it came to women.
"I got more on me, that's just the ones." He smirked, patting the pockets of his jeans.
Desmond shook his head and swiped his hand over his waves, checking himself out in the visor mirror. Examining his hair and trimmed goatee, which was cut just hours ago, he noticed a gray hair.
Not another one, he scoffed closing the visor.
Stepping out of his matte black Mercedes Benz AMG, Desmond stood all of six foot three, weighing just under two hundred pounds. His blemish-free skin, a chocolate brown with golden-brown eyes. He scanned over himself one last time, making sure he was still as clean as he was when he left his condo the hour before. He wore a pair of black jeans with a black and gold long-sleeved Versace shirt that was partially unbuttoned to flaunt two chunky 14K gold Cuban link chains. He had the sleeves on the shirt cuffed just enough for his Cartier watch to peek out. On his feet were a pair of black Louboutin sneakers. Desmond didn't like to dress flashy, but this was a rare night out for him.
Marquis climbed out of the passenger seat, standing at five foot nine but almost weighing the same as Desmond, he dusted himself off, wearing a white Off-White brand tee with black jeans and a pair of Off-White Converse on his feet. His light-brown skin nearly glowing under the parking lot lights as his long dark locks lay neatly in a braid resting on his back from a fresh retwist the day before.
"Y'all niggas ready?" Marquis sparked a blunt, inhaling deeply before handing it to the driver of the lunar blue Mercedes AMG coupe parked next to them, Desmond's younger brother, Jace.
Jace inherited the same dark complexion and eye color as Desmond. Standing six feet tall, he was dressed in all black with a black and gold Versace bomber jacket with a pair of black and gold Retro Jordan Ones. His shoulder-length dark brown hair was in braids. The resemblance between the two made it obvious they were related.
Donte, their friend who was sitting in Jace's passenger seat, responded first, "Yeah nigga. I'm ready to see what these hoes is 'bout," rubbing his hands together with a mischievous smile.
Donte was tall and lean, nearly six foot five, but only weighed about a hundred and eighty pounds. He sported an all-black Nike Tech Fleece jogging suit with a pair of white Nike Air Max 95s.
"You talkin' bout some hoes like yo baby mama won't beat yo ass nigga." Jace laughed.
"Shiiiit, did you turn yo location off, 'cause we don't need her showin' up tryna fight again," Marquis chimed in. "You know homegirl abusive."
They all laughed at Donte's expense.
The four men were out to celebrate Desmond's upcoming twenty-sixth birthday, even if he wasn't very happy about it. To him, he was another year older, more than halfway to thirty. It was a reminder that he didn't want to be some thirty-year-old thug in the streets banging and slanging.
The men dapped up before walking toward the club entrance. They continued their jokes as they walked past all the people standing in the line up to the doorman.
"What up y'all," the doorman greeted the group, handshaking each of them. "Happy Birthday D," he noted, letting the men inside.
Desmond gave a head nod. "Preciate it,"
"Good lookin' out Tone," Marquis handed him two hundred dollars.
'No flex zone, no flex zone.'
Rae Sremmurd blared through the speakers. The fellas maneuvered through the crowded club to get to their reserved table at the front while half-naked women strolled around, hustling dances.
Desmond wasn't the strip club type, but he gave in to his best friend's request to come out tonight. They refused to let Desmond sit in the house for his birthday weekend.
Marquis caught the attention of a server in a maid's uniform and immediately began requesting bottles to the table.
Deciding to make the most of the night, and forget his life worries for a little while, Desmond took a seat facing the main stage and ripped the paper band off of one of his stacks of cash.
'Tens or better.'
♟️•••••♟️
YOU ARE READING
All the King's Men ( An Urban Love Story )
Ficção Geral*COMPLETED* CURRENTLY EDITING "I'll go to war with God behind you." Desmond King grew up a product of his environment. With street smarts and a little book smarts on his side, he found a way to survive and feed everyone around him. He's been able t...
