26. Damier
T he morning sun in Paris was sharp against the runway, but I wasn’t paying attention to the light or the view. My mind was in Los Angeles, where it was the middle of the night. Dream hadn’t answered my texts or calls, which wasn’t completely out of character. Sometimes, her phone would die, or she’d fall asleep without charging it. Still, something about this felt different.
Hocus and I were boarding the jet, heading back to LA after handling some business in Europe. My phone buzzed as I stepped onto the plane, the notification lighting up with a number I didn’t recognize. The area code was from LA.
King ? I thought. He was supposed to be in New York handling business, but sometimes he called from burner phones when he didn’t want to leave a trail.
I answered, pressing the phone to my ear. “What’s good?”
There was a pause, then a voice I didn’t recognize. Deep, cold, and calculated. “You’ve got something I want, and I’ve got something you want.”
I stopped in my tracks, the weight of his words hitting me like a punch to the chest.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I growled, my voice low.
“Your prized possession,” the man said, his tone mocking. “Imani Dream Jaxton. If you want her back, you’re going to give me four million dollars in cash. I’ll text you the address where to drop off the money, and then you can have your bitch back.”
My heart pounded as my free hand curled into a fist. “Put her on the phone. I swear on my soul who ever you are, you’re?—”
“Relax,” the man cut me off, his voice calm. “She’s fine. For now. Pay up, and you can have her back untouched.”
“Who the fuck are you? Who set you up to do this? Tell me, nigga,” I demanded, my tone sharp.
But the line went dead.
I stood there for a moment, my hand gripping the phone so tight I thought it might shatter. My chest was heaving as rage burned through me.
“What’s going on, bro?” Hocus asked, his voice tense.
“Somebody’s got Dream,” I said through clenched teeth. “Four million dollars is what they’re asking for. You think that could be Felix?”
Hocus’s jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring. “Got Dream? What the fuck? Nah, that don’t sound like Felix. Four million? This is someone else desperate for money.”
“You think Damian had plans before we snatched his ass up?” I asked, pacing to the back of the plane.
“Hell no, nobody would do that for him,” Hocus confidently said.
“The nigga on the phone didn’t say his name, and his voice didn’t click to me. Didn’t give me a location yet either. Just hung up.”
“We are going to find out for sure. Try the number again.”
I tried calling the number back, but it went straight to voicemail. My thumb hovered over the screen as I fought the urge to throw the phone across the cabin.
The jet roared to life as we took off, but my mind was on fire. I pulled up Dream’s location, praying it would give me the information I needed. The GPS pinged her in North Hollywood, but that didn’t mean she was still there.
I called King, pacing up and down the aisle as the miles between me and LA dragged on.
“They took her,” I said the moment he picked up.
“Who?” he asked, his tone sharp.
“Dream,” I said, my voice raw. “Somebody called and said they have her. They’re asking for four million in cash.”
King cursed under his breath. “Alright. I’ll wait for you on the runway when I land before you. We’ll figure this shit out fast.”
I nodded, gripping the back of the seat as the plane hit cruising altitude. “I’m heading to her last location as soon as we land. North Hollywood.”
“Don’t do shit without me,” King warned.
“Just be ready,” I said before ending the call.
$$$$$$
The flight felt like an eternity, every minute stretching out like hours. I couldn’t even sit down, and I had drunk half of a bottle of cognac. Somebody had the love of my life, and I didn't know what kind of condition she was in or what they were doing to her. The shit felt like a nightmare because my duty was to protect my lady.
By the time we touched down in LA, I was already out of my seat, ready to move. King was waiting on the runway with a black SUV, his face grim.
“Let’s go,” he said as I slid into the passenger seat.
We sped off toward North Hollywood, the tension in the car thick enough to cut. My face frowned as I stared at the GPS, the blinking dot of Dream’s location feeling both too close and too far.
When we pulled up, the street was dimly lit, the house small and run-down in a nice neighborhood. My stomach turned when I spotted something out the window. I stepped out of the truck, my Prada boots crunching against the gravel as I approached it.
It was Dream’s new iPhone 16 with the picture of us in Turks as the case, smashed to pieces.
I stared at it for a moment, my rage boiling over. “This is her phone,” I muttered, my voice low.
Hocus and King exchanged a look, but I was already moving. We kicked the door in, the sound echoing through the quiet street.
Inside, the house was dark, the smell of stale weed and sweat filling the air. In the living room, a woman was passed out on the couch, her body limp like she was in a drug coma.
I stepped over to her, pulling my gun from my waistband and pressing it against her temple.
“Wake up,” I growled.
Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she looked confused. Then, her face twisted in recognition.
“Damier?” she asked, confused.
And I knew her too. After Dream told me about Zaraa’s betrayal, something told me to put a face to the name. I’d looked her up on social media, and now here she was, lying in front of me, at the center of all this bullshit.
“Yeah, you know exactly who I am, Zaraa. Where’s Dream? With yo’ hatin’ ass,” I demanded, my voice cold.
“I don’t know,” she stammered, her voice shaky. “I swear, I don’t know! We got high, and I must’ve passed out. I don’t know if she left or what.”
I stared at her, my grip tightening on the gun. “You’re lying,” I said, my voice deadly. “Dream doesn’t do drugs, and we both know that.”
King and Hocus checked the rest of the house, their footsteps heavy as they returned to the room.
“Nobody else here,” King said, his tone sharp.
“Last chance,” I said, my finger brushing the trigger. “Where is Dream, and who has her? Give me a fuckin’ name.”
Zaraa’s eyes darted around the room, her lips trembling. “I don’t know! Lamari has her!”
The gunshot from my revolver rang out after she gave me what I needed, the bullet hitting her square in the head.
I stood there for a moment, my chest heaving, as the room fell silent. I had to take her out. After letting Kita live, I was never making that mistake again.
“She knew more than a name, but I wasn’t about to keep her around to find out. I know who that nigga is. We will find him,” I muttered, turning to King.