Long As You Know Who You Belong To Read online

  Jessica Watkins Presents

  Long as You Know Who You Belong To

  Bri Noreen

  Copyright © 2015 by Bri Noreen

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  About the book:

  Kendrick "Grey" Summers is just out here trying to function. New to LA with a couple mil to flip, Grey opens South Beach, the newest addition to the Los Angeles club scene. In the midst of starting his business, he meets an exotic beauty by the name of Nakami. Enamored by her beauty and fiery personality, Grey courts her not knowing that her father, Hero, is the biggest drug lord on the West Coast. Nakami and her father prove to be the connect that Grey needs in order to get back to his hustle. But at what cost?

  Kimani Summers, Grey's younger brother, is making a name for himself in the modeling industry and is also pursuing a career in acting. When he hears that his brother has relocated to LA, he's not happy. Knowing Grey and the trouble that tends to follow behind him, Kimani is reluctant to interact with the brother he hasn't seen or talked to in over five years. Hesitantly taking Grey up on the invitation to attend the grand opening of his new club, Kimani meets Nakami's best friend, Blu. After losing the last woman he loved tragically, Kimani doesn't want to fall for Blu, but he can't help it.

  When these four lives are intertwined, things get crazy! And when everything is all said and done, friends will become enemies, business and personal relationships will crumble, and lines will be crossed that will affect the lives of all parties involved.

  Prologue

  I watched as the glass vase I had been holding in my hand soared through the air, crashed landed against the white croc skin wallpaper, and burst into a million pieces. Tears rained down my disfigured face, burning my open wounds as I tried to come to grips with what had just happened.

  “Ma’am …you’re not in any condition to be moving around,” the nurse timidly stated. I whipped around so forcefully that my neck made a popping noise.

  “Bitch, if you don’t get the fuck out my business, you’re going to be the next thing that goes flying across this fucking room. Now piss off!” I roared. Without another word, she ran her ass up out the room, heeding my warning.

  “How could this have happened? Why would he do this?” I dropped to my knees and landed right on a pile of broken glass. The glass cut into my flesh, immediately causing blood to leak all over the mahogany wood floors. The pain of the open wounds felt like the cusp of an orgasm in comparison to the unbearable pain I felt in my heart.

  Rage wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the feeling coursing through my body. It was something worse than that. Deadlier than that. The feeling was consuming me, eating me alive from the inside out. It was awakening a dark side of me that no one, including me, had ever borne witness to.

  Stumbling, I rose from the broken glass and limped to my room. During the short trip from the mirror to my bed, I thought about the possible ways I could make him suffer twelve times over. Letting gunshots ring off and hit his body like Fourth of July fireworks wouldn’t be satisfying enough. Drawing blood by stabbing him directly in the heart as he had stabbed me—metaphorically speaking, of course—would be too swift. No, he needed to be dealt with in a specific manner. He needed to have everything in his life stripped from him and be forced to live with the daily reminder that he was the one that brought this on himself. The gauntlet had been thrown, and I wasn’t going to stop until the nigga that I’d given my heart to had his ripped out and hung on a wall like a trophy of vengeance won.

  Nakami

  May 2014

  “You’re a fucking idiot!” I screamed so loud that my own eardrums popped. Tristan stood in front of me frozen with fear, and she had every right to piss her pants right now. If I had been armed, her family would have needed a closed casket goodbye.

  “I told you what to order. I wrote it down. I spelled it out. I practically wrote the order myself, and you still managed to fuck this up!” I could feel my face turning a vivid shade of red; a sure sign that rage had taken over my body. I couldn’t tell if Tristan was shaking, or if I was and that was why it seemed as if she was moving. But I didn’t care which was happening.

  “I...I didn’t touch the order. I sent it in as you gave it to me,” she stuttered.

  My leopard print Charlotte Olympia pumps made sweet music against the hardwood floors as I strutted over to where Tristan stood. I got so close to her that I could probably write the menu of what she had for lunch by the smell of her breath.

  “Are you trying to tell me that I made the mistake?”

  “That’s not what I said!” she screeched.

  “Get out my face. Now!” I yelled.

  Tristan scurried away like a terrified rat. I closed the door angrily, causing the expensive pictures on the wall to rattle. I wanted to fire her. I needed to fire her. But I couldn’t. She would be the sixth assistant that I had gotten rid of in three weeks, and my schedule was too tight. I just couldn’t go through the hassle of putting up an ad and sifting through resumes, only to hire someone as incompetent as the ones that had come before her. I just didn’t understand why no one could get this right!

  I pulled out my phone to call my father, but I changed my mind before I could get it all the way out of my purse. One thing I didn’t want to hear was him calling me Kamikaze because of my reckless attitude. It was his little pet name for me that had developed because of my outrageous temper tantrums. On top of it describing me well, it also was a blend of my name and my mother’s.

  My birth name was Nakami Yukimura. I was born to my Japanese father, Hironori Yukimura, better known in the streets as Hero, and my African-American mother, Kazira Prince. My dad told me that I was the spitting image of her. The only features I’d stolen from him were my chinky light brown eyes. My honey brown skin complexion, my wavy brown tresses, my stacked body, and my long lashes were definitely gifts from my mother. I hadn’t been fortunate enough to know her because she’d died while giving birth to me, but my father had enough pictures and stories for me to build a concrete image of her in my head.

  The love I had for my father ran deep. He’d had it rough trying to raise a daughter and run a drug empire, but he’d been successful in both arenas. I idolized him, and whatever he said was law. I’d never put anyone or anything before him, and I never planned to do so. I’d followed his orders when he told me to put school above boys and parties, and I’d graduated from UCLA with a degree in Business Management on his orders. This was why I moved into the city and out of the hills to run my event planning business. Well, although it was my business, it was just a way to legally clean my father’s drug money. My heart was telling me that he was trying to get out of the drug business and clean as much money as possible. But whatever he wanted, I was down for it. A ride or die bitch didn’t have to be a girl riding for her man. I was definitely a ride or die bitch for my father.

  “Your new client, Mr. Summers, is here,” Tristan poked her head into my office and said. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  “Ugh,” I groaned.

  I just needed a moment to myself. I had forgotten all about the new client I was supposed to be planning for. He was referred to me by another wealthy client of mine, so I knew that I needed to man up, put my game face on, and handle my business. I waved Tristan off and stood from my desk. I walked over to my mirror to take a good look at myself and make sure that I was at my best.

  Standing 5’7” without heels, my super t
hick frame looked even more svelte and balanced with my favorite pair of designer pumps that gave me an extra 6 inches of height. My long, thick mane was wand curled to perfection and cascaded down my back, and my little baby hairs were extra popping. I was dressed in a cobalt blue Alice + Olivia bodycon dress with a deep-v in the front, as well as a modest split. The dress hugged my wide, child bearing hips, 36D breasts, and round ass like it was made with only my body in mind.

  My face was flawless; my chinky bedroom eyes were framed by long, dark lashes, my caramel skin sparkled with 24k gold bronzer, and my full lips were coated with Lime Crime’s Velvetine Salem lip color. People often told me that my face reminded them of the actress and model Tae Heckard, but my body was more Serena Williams. Whatever. I looked better than any bitch on TV.

  Satisfied with how I looked, the only decision left was whether I should throw on my blazer or no. Since I was meeting with a man, I figured the more skin, the better. So I left the blazer on the back of my office chair.

  Taking a deep breath, I walked out of my office to greet my new client.

  Got. Damn.

  Standing at least 6’3”, with skin the color of vanilla bean ice cream, sandy brown neatly twisted dreads, a full beard and mustache of the same color, and cool grey eyes, Mr. Summers took my breath and my heart in two seconds flat. I blushed hard when he casually threw a smile my way, revealing his deep-set dimples. My GAWD this man was gorgeous! Dressed in Balmain Moto Jeans, a white v-neck t-shirt, black and grey Giuseppe Zanotti high-top sneakers, and a grey color block Lanvin button down cardigan, this man had my heart palpitating before he could even speak a word.

  “I take it that you’re Nakami. Not to be unprofessional, but damn you’re gorgeous,” his deep voice boomed, instantly making my body quiver and my juice box leak. He extended his hand for me to shake. I obliged.

  “I am. Nice to meet you, Mr. Summers. And thank you for the compliment.”

  “It’s Kendrick. Mr. Summers is a greeting for somebody much older than I am,” he laughed. “Or my friends call me Grey. That is, if you plan on becoming my friend,” he teased.

  “The way you’re staring at me, it’s hard not to imagine we’ll eventually become more than that,” I replied. He raised his eyebrow and smirked in amusement. “But let’s stick to business for now, Kendrick.”

  He was planning a grand opening party for his new club, South Beach. The club sounded amazing and completely different than anything I’d ever seen or heard of. For the grand opening, he wanted to stick to the Miami theme, and I had less than two weeks to pull it together. Talk about pressure. And although Grey…my bad, Kendrick…was easy on the eyes, I could tell that his demanding ass was not going to be easy to please. I had my work cut out for me. But for a man that damn fine, I was willing to lose some sleep and slay some dragons to satisfy him. All I knew was that after this party, not only was I going to end up with a $200K check in my account, I was going to end up with a new man in my life.

  Grey

  May 2014

  This legit shit was starting to wear thin on my nerves. I was ready to get back to the fucking hustle. Uprooting my life and hopping my ass all the way across the country, from Detroit to LA, had never even crossed my mind. But I don’t back down from a challenge. So when my connect, Jorge Nueva, was busted by the DEA and the Feds, I got ghost before they locked my ass down too. I dropped everything but the cash in my safe, which amounted to a little over $3 million. I knew that the shit wouldn’t last long. But I was born on a dollar and a dream, so I knew I could make it do what it do.

  The first thing I did when I touched down in Los Angeles four months ago was find out what the hot shit was here. My nigga, Tyler, had made the move with me, and it only took him two weeks to get back to the money. But I wasn’t a corporate nigga. Tyler was an engineer with mad skills. Even though I had earned my Bachelor’s as well, I could never see myself working some weak ass 9 to 5. So because I needed time to figure out how to get into the drug game out west, I had to find some kind of business that was going to keep my money flowing in the meantime.

  Being the home to the stars, it was really a no-brainer to open a club. But the list of clubs in Hollywood and Beverly Hills was long, and the clubs were definitely official; none of that bullshit that you get when you come to the D. These clubs in LA brought out the music business’ most elite players, Hollywood’s A-list actors, and the world’s most famous athletes. So I knew I had to come with it in order to make shit pop. But that ain’t a thing. A nigga is real creative, so I knew South Beach would be on the top of every website’s top ten list in a matter of months. But all the bullshit that came with opening a club was for the birds. Permits, licenses, ordering the liquor, hiring the staff, meeting with the interior designer, strategizing with a marketing team, sending out invites to PR people…Like, damn! Can’t I just buy the space and open that bitch already?

  I sighed out loud just thinking about it. The only good thing that came out of it was Nakami’s fine ass. Baby girl was fire, and she knew it. I’d heard about ol’ girl though; heard that attitude was something fierce and that she was as lethal as snake venom. But it was all good. I had nine inches of get right that I knew would put that ass in place. I walked out of her office trying to talk my dick out of walking back in there and bending her ass over that desk.

  Thankfully, my phone rung and averted my attention. “Little bro. What did I do to deserve this phone call?”

  “Man, please tell me that it ain’t true. Please tell me you ain’t out here in LA?”

  “So much for the welcome wagon, huh my nigga?” I half joked.

  “C’mon, Grey! Why you couldn’t stay your ass in Detroit?” He sounded pissed, and that made me irritated.

  “Nigga, are you serious? You should be popping a bottle, putting me up on one of them model bitches you roll with, and showing me around town…not whining into my damn phone! Fuck wrong with you?”

  “You know what the fuck is wrong with me. I’m out here trying to leave that ghetto shit in the past, and you come out here to my city dragging it with you!”

  Let me explain something about my brother. This ain’t how it always was between us. Me and Kimani used to be so tight that people thought we were fraternal twins. We ran the halls of school as well as the streets together, and you rarely saw one without the other. But after Kimani’s girlfriend, Ginae, got killed during a shootout with a rival drug family, Kimani turned bitch and dipped from the city. He moved to California a day after her funeral without saying two fucking words to me, and he never looked back. Now his modeling ass thought he was the shit because his dick print was posted on billboards and in magazines. Fuck outta here. He was still “Mani from Highland Park” to me.

  “Aye, you the one calling me. Not the other way around,” I told him. “I left you out of it.”

  “I don’t need this right now. I got my agent trying to line up acting gigs and…”

  “Oh, so you an old Christian Keyes, Morris Chestnut, and Michael Ealy looking ass nigga now?” I burst out laughing just imagining his ass trying to act.

  “Laugh if you want to, but at least I’m legit.”

  “So am I, fool,” I boasted.

  “What? Fuck you talm’bout?”

  “I’m opening a club. In Hollywood. Next week actually. And I got a bad bitch throwing the grand opening party. I got celebrities coming out, and Big Sean’s DJ, Mo Beatz, is djing that shit, bro.”

  Silence was all I heard on the phone. My brother wasn’t stupid. He knew that being legit was a necessity but that hustling was where my heart was and that, even though I might not be doing it at the moment, it wouldn’t be much longer before I found a way to get my hands into something illegal.

  “Is that right?” he finally replied.

  “Yeah, man. So if your ol’ Hollywood ass ain’t got nothing to do next week, come through the spot.”

  “Look, man. I got an image now. I can’t be caught up in no bullshit.”

 
“Ok, so when some bullshit comes up, I’ll keep you out of it. Just come parlay with your big brother, man. Shit.”

  I heard Kimani sigh loudly through the phone before he spoke again. “Aight, man. I’ll be through there.”

  “Bet.”

  I ended the call and hopped into my pearl white 2014 Tesla Model S and tossed my phone into the passenger seat. Today hadn’t been all that bad. The straight and narrow shit was cool for the time being, but my hands were itching to get into some trouble. To hell with that shit my brother was talking.

  Nakami

  May 2014

  “Where are the rest of the bird of paradise flowers we ordered?” I surprised myself with the moderate volume yell that came out of my mouth. I guess the Xanax was really working.

  “They’re in the back. I’m going to grab them right now.” Tristan scurried past me before I could get another word out.

  It was the grand opening night of South Beach, and all hands were on deck. I was dressed in a comfy Helmut Lang jumpsuit, and I was wearing gold and snakeskin Isabel Marant sneaker wedges. My wet, curly hair had been haphazardly thrown into a top knot. I was not above jumping in and dripping a little sweat in order for my reputation as the ultimate event planner to remain intact. And in this case, everything needed to be exceptional because I was hell bent on impressing Grey. I went to make sure that the alcohol had been situated at the bar the way that I specified and was stopped by a mail courier.

  “Ms. Yukimura?”

  “Yes, what is it?” I asked curtly.

  “I have a package for you. Please sign here.”

  The courier extended his clipboard and handed me a pen. Draped over his shoulder was a large garment bag from Nordstrom. I signed quickly, and the courier handed me the garment bag as well as a shopping bag. He smiled and went on his merry way, leaving me super confused. Attached to the garment bag was a card. Curious, I snatched it off and laid the other items on top of the bar.