Coming from a life of drugs, money, and women, Michael "Meechie" Jackson had the world in the palm of his hands. He had power and his business, which he built from the ground up, morphed him into one of the most well-known drug lords in the city.
I...
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A YEAR & A HALF PRIOR...
Club Empire was popping since ladies with free entrance and drinks arrived before 11 PM. It was a place that brought out the thirstiest women and richest/wealthiest men. Most came with eye candy on their arm or solo, but there was one man in particular that everyone bowed down to like he was God Himself. When word got out that he was going to be there, a VIP section awaited his arrival with his entourage and women losing their absolute mind in hopes of gaining the attention of the youngest and most notorious drug lord in the state of Virginia.
Michael Jackson was his government name but prohibited anyone using it aside from those close to him. Meechie was what everyone knew him as and addressed him accordingly. He definitely caught the eye of Irish when introduced by the DJ. She heard his name floating around the city occasionally but could never put a face to it. She didn't expect him to look as fine as he was, vitiligo, long, curly hair, height and all.
"Girl, Meechie is fine as hell!" Irish leaned over and said to her best friend, Vena.
"Mhm," hummed Vena, eyeing Michael herself. "But he's just like the rest of these street niggas with money. Fuck 'em and leave 'em. He ain't no good, girl. Just rich and dangerous with good dick."
Irish's almond shape, wide-set eyes never averted from Michael maneuvering through the crowd to get to his booth. Women flocked to him like a magnet, and even though she could've behaved like they were, she stayed calm, cool and collected. She had another alternative.
It wasn't always common for a woman to chase after a man. When women chased men, nothing good comes out of it. When men chased women, it's destined to be. Irish was taught by her preaching father and Proverbs 18:22: "whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing and obtaineth favour of the lord". Shebelieved whoso find a man deserve all the good that come with him. Regardless of what Vena said about him, if she were his woman, there was no doubt she could change Michael and make him realize one woman was all he need.
The club was way too lit as eveyone sipped their drinks and danced to hits the DJ rotated on the turntable. From Miami Bass to Atlanta Crunk to New Orleans Bounce, ass shook in every corner and direction. Any man with a dick between his legs found himself comfortable behind a single woman never once missing a beat as their bodies grounded. Irish and Vena enjoyed dancing together and even had a couple of guys try and push up on them but were turned down politely.
Two songs later, Vena made herself comfortable inside the small booth they occupied; meanwhile, Irish found her way to the bar. Surprisingly, Michael was there leaning against the bar top. She assumed he would be catered to like the God he appeared to be from the outside looking in. Approaching the empty space next to him while he flirtatiously exchanged words with the dark skinned female bartender, another one two shades lighter greeted her. When she placed her order, her eyes shifted to the fine specimen beside her. She was never the timid type and wore her boldness big and proud on her sleeve.
