𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐑 | Mj urban story

CHAPTER 2

"Be safe. And cover yaself up. Wass under that thin ass jacket on you?" She asked, referring to his outfit.

It was November and surely cold. He wore simply jeans and a black bomber jacket with just his white wife-beater inside.

He looked down at himself and laughed briefly. "Ain't nothin' wrong wit' what I'm wearin'." He shook his head and waved at her. "Stay safe, Maw. And remember, if I hear somethin' 'round here goin' on, call me an' I shoot they brains out." He warned her and she actually nodded her head

"I gotchu." She replied.

He left out her house as he felt his phone buzzing, instantly knowing it was King. "Nigga pick up yo damn feet! They doin' hella shots down here!" His voice was more excited and loud which was unusual because King is a very laid back person who doesn't even raise his voice when angry as opposed to Michael. He heard many voices in the background of the phone call and he began to walk faster, opening his car door

"Ight I be there." He nodded as if King could see him and backed out of his grandmother's driveway and sped back down the streets. Although it was cold, he kept his windows open with the air blowing into his face. He bopped his head to the music and played it louder, passing by a scene filled with police.

He arrived to the club in time and was instantly met with King and Bianca, dressed up more formally than himself.

"Nigga you late. You missed the line dance." King kissed his teeth. "And they was askin' fo you."

Michael shrugged his shoulders with a smirk. "I'm bouta get wasted. Ain't gon' catch me dancin'. Shit." He licked his lips and sat down at the bar, swinging his stool around. "Gimme a martini. Feelin' fancy tonight." He spoke, sliding some cash onto the table as the bartender nodded his head.

The club was lit with disco lights and music. Michael wasn't big on drinking but could lose control when he does, so he tries not to do it often. His fingers tapped against the table and his eyes watched as pretty women passed by, waving at him flirtatiously but he made no effort to wave back.

He wasn't too fond of women anymore and in fact, swore that the only woman he loves is his grandmother.

"Ma boy!" He heard a voice beside him and he looked to his side, seeing Richie Stevens, one of his good friends. "I ain't knew you was gon' be here." He smiled as his grills shined.

Richie was like Pop. A casual friend of Michael's and got into trouble here and there.

Michael smiled but didn't leave his stool. "Why would I pass it up, nigga? King begged my ass ta come but look at him all up on B." He said, referring to his girlfriend Bianca who was currently dancing up on him on the dance floor.

Richie laughed and threw up 4 fingers, "Gimme a Negroni, light on the Campari." He said, sitting down beside Michael.

Michael's eyes widened lightly. "Damn 4, nigga? Watchu tryna do? Drink to the grave?"

Richie jerked his head back. "Itta take like 10 a these to catch me lackin'." He shook his head as Michael shook his head right back, laughing. "I'm havin' about 2 an' thass it. You know what happens when my ass get drunk." He muttered

Richie bursted out laughing and it was quite loud as his voice is always boisterous and full of life. "Nigga you can't live that down. Yo ass-"

"Don't speak of it." Michael nearly covered his mouth as he surrendered. "Ight, I quit."

They received their drinks and drank responsibly, peering over at everyone around them. Michael didn't go out much mainly because everywhere he goes there's police laced. One more bad day with the law and he's locked up for good.