Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 124836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 624(@200wpm)___ 499(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 624(@200wpm)___ 499(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
I chewed slowly, letting the flavors linger on my tongue and savoring every second.
Dima’s voice rose. “Amazing. Absolutely amazing.”
Chen was practically moaning at this point, devouring his plate with reckless abandon. “This is unreal, cousin! Absolutely unreal!”
Jo nudged Moni. “When you’re high everything tastes like the last supper. You know. Like Jesus cooked it.”
“Like what? Jo, you need to drink some water.” Moni smirked.
“Sexy?” I picked up a piece of duck this time and leaned over to feed her.
She raised an eyebrow. “Mountain Master, you’re going to get us ejected from the judge’s table.”
“I would like to see them try.”
“Fuck it.” Moni took the meat from my fingers and as she did, her tongue lightly grazed my skin again.
That small touch was enough to send a rush of heat through me.
My cock went hard right there.
Thank God the tablecloth would be covering my erection from the audience.
Before I knew it, I was leaning in for another kiss, the taste of duck lingering on both our lips.
Moni chuckled against my mouth. “You’re insatiable.”
“Only with you,” I muttered, pulling back but keeping my gaze locked on hers.
Chef Foo spoke, “Chinese barbecue is more than just a meal—it’s a communal experience. Whether you’re sharing skewers with friends or enjoying a plate of roasted pork, it’s about bringing people together, just like we are today, so thank you for letting me join in this celebration.”
Chef Foo gave a dramatic bow and waved goodbye.
The crowd cheered, clearly impressed by his words and food.
With another last wave, Chef Foo left the stage.
Not a bad start. What will we get next?
Chapter thirty-four
Moves like Michael
Lei
DJ Hendrix put on “Finesse” by Bruno Mars. The upbeat tune filled the space, inciting a ripple of cheers among everyone.
Plates of Chef Foo’s food continued to be passed out to the rest of the attendees and the hum of conversation and laughter grew louder.
Beside me, Chen had finally slowed down with eating. “Cousin!”
I raised my eyebrows. “Yes?”
His eyes were wide as fuck and sweat beaded on his forehead. “This. . .is what life is about.”
I nodded. “It is.”
Fen glanced at me and chuckled.
I leaned her way. “Thank you again.”
“No problem, Mountain Master.”
“You’ve earned a special favor from me. Come to me, any time, any day, and I will grant your wish.”
Fen widened her eyes. “I’ll take it. Thanks.”
DJ Hendrix—absorbed in his realm—shifted the atmosphere with a swift transition into another Bruno Mars' popular hit, “Uptown Funk.”
The pulsating bass echoed through the yard.
I swore the lanterns swayed with the rhythm.
Apparently, Aunt Min knew this song well because she began singing the song to Einstein as they ate and played Mahjong.
And Einstein, he looked to be enjoying himself as he roared with laughter.
Suddenly, DJ Hendrix took an unexpected turn, weaving Michael Jackson's “Billie Jean” flawlessly into the mix.
Several from Rowe Street Mob and even the Four Aces wailed in approval.
I checked the Judge’s table and was shocked to see that Dima and Rose were no longer sitting over there.
O-kay.
They had rose, moved to the side and started dancing together.
It made sense because Dima was an insane Michael Jackson fan. When we were kids, I could never quite figure out how he managed it, but somehow, Dima had a new MJ look ready to go, every time.
When we were ten, he was “Thriller” Michael—red leather jacket, single glove, and those black loafers. The wig on his head was absolutely ridiculous. Dima even tried to do the zombie dance down the street, but with his short legs at the time and chubby cheeks, it just looked like he was waddling.
Another year, he was “Bad” Michael, with the black buckled outfit and the serious expression. Dima loved trying to look serious, but he'd always crack a smile whenever he saw someone give him a thumbs up. Of course he would jot whatever down in this sparkling special MJ Halloween notebook.
However, I think my favorite had to be when we were teenagers and he was visiting from his new boarding school. It had been a huge surprise. He showed up to the Killer Crews Halloween party out of the blue looking like “Smooth Criminal” Michael, with a wavy, black wig, perfect white suit, and fedora.
Maybe, we should have a Halloween party this year. I would love to see what Michael Jackson Dima would come up with this year.
It was strange that I was planning for the future, with my father’s upcoming battle just tomorrow night.
Even more, before Moni, I had been ready to die.
Now with her in my life, all I wanted to do was live.
And where is my father right now?
A chill hit me.
I swallowed and did my best to shove it away. No good could come from trying to think about what he would be doing next. When dealing with him, the smartest thing to do would be just to enjoy the moment.