⚠️ Trigger warning ⚠️ : There's some violence in this one shot. Please read with caution!
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"So who's going to explain to me what exactly the problem is?" Beyoncé asks calmly. The control in her voice hides the anger bubbling up inside her. Although, she's sure it's going to rise out of her any moment now. Time is ticking, and she's quickly losing her patience.
She's not supposed to be here, in this meeting right now. Beyoncé had decided (more like Normani had demanded) she take the weekend off work to spend more a little more time with her girlfriend.
The kingpin has been working tirelessly for a while now, never taking a vacation. All Normani wanted to do is lay in bed with her woman all day, but of course, this emergency meeting suddenly had to be scheduled. Beyoncé was forced to cut their intimate time together short. Then, she sent her twenty year old girlfriend on a shopping trip to Fifth Avenue to make up for their interruption. This was a few hours ago. She's anxious to see her girl again.
Raising a perfectly arched eyebrow, Beyoncé continues demanding answers. "Tell me now," the drug lord commands.
The round, palatial table the women occupy in the kingpin's in-home office remains silent.
The guards that encircle the room seem to stiffen in their clean, black suits as Beyoncé leans forward in her leather seat, and grabs hold of the pistol laying in front of her. She sits at the head of the table, and toys with with the gun nonchalantly, her expression unwavering. Her threat is clear.
The drug kingpin's posture is perfectly upright as her hazel eyes bear into those of the other narco traffickers at the table, but her facial expression hardly changes. She remains stoic.
Beyoncé is the picture of professionalism and wealth in her gold custom suit. Heavy diamonds hang from her ears and from her neck, and her expensive perfume that radiates around her office is a gift from God Himself. However, the thoughts on her mind at the moment are anything but Godly.
Solange, Beyoncé's second in command and dear younger sister, sits right by her side. The light skinned woman's arms are crossed against her chest and her smile is almost devious.
Solange knows she's not in trouble here. Her older sister often lets her get away with things. She also knows that Beyoncé might ask her to take out the gun tucked safely in the pocket of her tailored blazer, and blow someone's head off any second now.
Someone in this room knows something. They did call a meeting after all. Something must be wrong. All Solange knows is, they better hurry up and spit it out before her sister loses her temper. She licks her lips, excited at that mere thought of taking another life tonight. She adores the thrill.
