𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞
_______________
𝙁𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙧
Inside the Swiss castle, glasses were given to Genevieve and Quinton as the two sat across from the dark and heated gaze of the original OG and the silent head of the drug operation—Quade, or formerly known to America as Quincy Strand, a highly dangerous individual that was once on the America's most wanted list. His skin-tone was a deep chocolate with a groomed grey beard covering his jawline. The bright hazel eyes was one Quinton inherited.
Although the stylish sixty-year-old was living and breathing in Switzerland, Quincy Strand was dead in America for eighteen years now.
Quade typically stays outta the business, trusting that Quinton would make the right decisions. But the drug bust with loss of money and drugs and hearing about drug details pulled him outta his peace.
The older kingpin had eyes and ears everywhere. Nothing got past him. Quade was the real life big brother.
Quade stared at the partners in crime, watching them nervously throw back the drinks of Scotch. He finally chose to speak after fifteen minutes of silence. "A cop shot and robbery in the burbs, one dude beat nearly to death cause of a voicemail, Justice arrested wit two dudes; one that just so happens to be a Greene, and the story goes public. The charges dropped, Justice in Singapore, and another murder. But double this time done by the hands of that Greene kid killing two people that has weight behind their names. Do tell if I'm fuckin' missin' anything, Quinton?"
Even at twenty-nine and as merciless as Quinton can be, he always found himself slightly cowering out of fear and respect from his father's words and aura. "No sir."
"Sho' bout that?" Quade titled his head with a slick eye, "Cause if y'all woulda kept y'all ass in California like you were supposed to do none of this woulda went down. You knew he was a Greene and still let him join GCC for what? Som' puppy love bullshit? I know all about Jalea Greene. And I also know bout her knowing who you really are. The fuck is wrong witchu?"
Quinton started to open his mouth, but in usual Quade form, he responded for him. "No, I'ma tell you what's wrong witchu. You got kiss whipped. Cause I know y'all wasn't fuckin' before you came to Cali, and once you heard that was her brotha you just couldn't help yourself, could you? Ya finally fuck and got pussy whipped and done told her something you wasn't. What you shoulda done was turned homie away and told em go read a mufuckin' book. He had too many eyes on em from the start. And where the hell was you?"
"I–" Genevieve stammers, "with all due respect, sir, I can't tell Quinton what to do, Pop Quade."
"Then what did I allow you to stay around for?" Quade held a steady gaze with her that she folds under, "Aside from me you should be to tame what the fuck it is he does to keep me off his ass. Or was it 'cause you was too hungry for this Jalea chick too?"
Genevieve doesn't respond making Quinton say, "This not on her, Quade."
"It's on both y'all," Quade clarifies, "y'all both accountable for every drug and money lost in these drug bust, the people killed; everything. Which brings me to what happened recently. Brock Preston is dead along with his wife and leaving alive their daughter. Any thought on where she could be?"
"No," Quinton answered, "Brock didn't have photos hanging around or even spoke of a daughter. He don't even have on file that he is a father."
