𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 | machine gun kelly

63

A/N:

This chapter is such a vibe i swear. also, i post chapter sneak peeks and reel edits of characters in statuesque on my insta (same user as on here) if you weren't already aware. In other news, i just went crazy shopping on black friday and now i can't wait for the weather to get a bit more cold so that i can turn on the drip lmao. i feel like there's no bad days for me if my seasonal fits are on point, and i honestly can't be mentally spiraling in winter bro that's when i'm the most susceptible. anywho, i hope you guys enjoy the chapter.

***

Colson Baker's pov;

THE GAME OF BILLIARDS ENDED with a cheer around the pool table. The only thing I knew was that I had nailed the shit down, because of the way my mind had been sucked dry in the aftermath of the game.

I never liked playing it for fun because of that very reason. Billiards was for when I was baked out, or furious, or needed to shut particular thoughts out of my mind.

But right now, I had only been playing it for the fun it absolutely didn't give me, because my mind had become a slave to thoughts I had only ever wanted-realizations that I could only ever have dreamed to have.

The guys scattered away from around the pool table as I tossed the cue stick to a side, most of them going over towards the kegs to get refills.

The news Dominic had read off of his phone had long burned out from around us like a leaking gas slowly dissipating-without exploding-sneaking away as harmlessly as it had come because no one had made the mistake of lighting a match.

The guys were all drunk, all except Pete and me. We were considerably baked too, but still sentient enough to regard what had happened.

The news was out. Trippie Redd and Playboi Carti's bodies had been found-gunshots and all-in New York.

The rest of the guys here were drunk, so their reactions had been etched with disbelief and disregard in equal measure. But when the morning will hit, so will whatever unorthodox consideration they had to offer.

Because to them, Trippie Redd and Playboi Carti were artists they had worked with, smoked with, punched knuckles with-but only ever so briefly, in periods of time that could in fact only be measured with a stupid stopwatch.

But that wasn't the case for me or for Pete.

Playboi Carti? I had only ever seen the bastard once at an after party.

But Trippie Redd? Now, there's a fucker who's grave had long been calling his miserable name.

I gestured to the DJ to turn the music up. He was a local, and had done gigs like this for me twice before.

The news will take until morning to sink the fuck in into the rest of the people in this basement. But it was still much too early in the night yet.

The man turned up a thumb, and a second later, the already loud music blaring in the basement of the mansion, amplified some more.

Hoes Come Easy by RJMrLA pumped into the air, the rapper's rap verse distinct as it raced with each beat, slow and fast at the same time.

"Send the ki up in the sky
I gotta let a bird fly
Stay with your man, you ain't gotta choose sides
Never tell my left hand what I'm doing with my right
Beach full of sand, why I gotta bring mine."

My eyes searched where the girls had been sitting, looking for Davina in a room full of people had me worked up like a starved animal aching with anticipation.