Lighter Shade of Brown (Urban Fiction) BWHM

Chapter 21

Cleo stood by Putt's El Camino, and watched as C's backed the Chevy out of the driveway, tearing away asphalt as he left the Circle. Conflicted emotions and thoughts, overran her heart and mental. Why was he pushing her away? She understood that Juan's situation worried him, but hell. His propensity for secrets and need for space at all the wrong times, worried her too. She got that he wanted to distance her from his street life and keep her clear of all the politics that popped off with it, but she was his girl. Who the hell would hold his ass down, if not her? The bitches on the side, she was more than sure he still kept on deck?

"Get in, Prima," Putt said, before sliding into the driver's seat of the ride.

With one last look at C's front door, she reluctantly slipped into the passenger's seat. As Putt pulled away from the curb, and guided the car from the Circle, Cleo gave him a side glance. He wore a strained expression, while his body crowded the steering wheel and his fingers gripped the wood grain so tight, knuckles bulged from the backs of his hand, threatening to tear through skin. Whatever was wrong with Juan, it had most of the dudes from around the way worried too. Matter of fact, it was all of the dudes who went out with C's for his birthday last night. They mulled about the block in clusters, like they knew something, but at the same time was just as lost as everybody else. It was as if things were two plus two, but equaling out as five.

"Putt, I'm not sure what's wrong with Juan, but if anyone is gonna shake hard times to left, its him," she said eyeing him from the corner of her eye. "I mean aside from C's and Taz, he one of the slickest dudes I know. Always stay with something up his sleeve, 'specially when shootin'. Messin' around with him, you don't only have to test the weight on the dice, but you have to count the dots on 'em too."

"Hell yeah." A small grin, released some of the stress from his face. "Can't count how many times I wanted to put that vato on his back for fuckin' off with my money. But he stay with a ready excuse to keep his ass out the dirt."

"And you better believe, he got one on deck now," Cleo said, nodding.

"I hope so, Prima," he said, his expression darkening. "For all our sakes, I sure as hell hope so."

As Putt angled the El Camino through the gates of the Ninth, she turned his words over in her mind, attempting to search for the hidden meaning behind them. There was a puzzle, but for the life of her she couldn't put it together, because some of the pieces were intentionally missing. What the hell had C's gotten them into? And yes, she knew beyond sense and reason that it was C's stunts that had–everyone in the know–on red alert protocol. Her man was a leader, not a follower and if some crazy mess had gone down, you better believe he initiated the shit.

When Putt pulled the car in front of her building, the door to her apartment flew open, and a half dressed Liberty charged out and bounded down the stairs. Before she could react, her mom's had already snatched open the passenger's door, and yanked her from the car by the back of the neck, as her nails gouged her skin. None of this however, bothered Cleo more than the enraged expression Liberty wore, along with the heated look in her eyes. Shit, she half expected her mom's to breathe fire.

"You told that nosey ass bitch, I gave you a gun?" Liberty hissed, spitting sprays of saliva as she spoke. "To show off for that damn Puerto Rican you fucking around with?"

Cleo opened her mouth to lie, but was cut off by Putt jumping from his ride, to round the car on them. "Fuck wrong with you? Let her go!"

"Who the hell is you?" Liberty yelled, tightening her grip on Cleo's neck. "What? They passin' you around out there now? Prince fucking Charmin' can't even be bothered to bring you home anymore?"

Putt advanced on them, and a group of dudes standing several feet away on the basketball court, began to walk in their direction, some even caressing their fist, like they were ready for some shit to start cracking. Anxiety and fear, dined on her intestines for breakfast. Especially, when she saw a dude's hand disappear under the hem of his t-shirt. She had to get Putt out of there before he was assigned a room next door to Juan's in the hospital, and that's if he was extremely lucky. Judging by the crew rolling up on them, the morgue wasn't completely out of the question.