Kayla #5
“What part?”
“The part about Memphis.”
“The business...the war...everything.” I sighed.
“Maybe it’s time to start thinking about going legit.” He laughed. Not because it was funny. Because he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.
“Go legit?”
“Yes.”
“You serious?” I nodded.
“You’ve built something incredible, Isaiah. Maybe it’s time to start passing the reins down to them. Rook, Bishop, King...they’re obviously capable. Maybe this is your chance to finally get out before something worse happens.”
“You don’t know what the fuck you talking about.”
“I know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“No, you don’t.” He set the glass down hard.
“You talking about handing my shit over like I found this business on the side of the road.”
“That’s not what I’m—”
“Do you know what I've had to sacrifice to build this?” he snapped, cutting me off.
“Do you know how many nights I went hungry? How many people crossed me? How many bullets I had to dodge? How many bodies I had to step over just to get where I’m at?” He shook his head before pointing toward himself.
“I built this shit with blood, sweat, and tears...literally.” His voice continued to climb. “You talking about passing the reins like it’s a family restaurant.”
“Isaiah—”
“No.” He took another step toward me. “I am the fucking connect. Without me, this pipeline dies.” I stared at him for several seconds, not just the man standing in front of me, but everything behind his eyes.
The pride. The fear. The desperation he was trying so hard to hide beneath all that anger.
And then it finally clicked, settling heavy in my chest like a truth I couldn’t unsee.
This wasn’t just a business to him, wasn’t just money, power, or control. This was his identity.
This was the thing that gave him purpose when everything else in his life had tried to strip him of it.
The thing that made him feel untouchable in a world that had probably made him feel small more times than he’d ever admit.
Every sacrifice, every loss, every line he crossed—it all fed into this version of himself he’d built brick by brick.
And without it, he didn’t know who he was supposed to be.
“You don’t hear yourself, do you?”
“What?”
“You’re talking like if you stop doing this, you stop existing.”
“You don’t get it,” he scoffed.
“No.” Tears filled my eyes. “I don’t think I ever will.”
For several long seconds neither one of us moved. Then he grabbed the key. “I need some air.”
Before I could protest, the front door slammed behind him. The suite felt empty. I stood there for a while staring at the door, hoping he’d come back before the elevator reached the lobby.
He didn’t. Eventually I crawled into bed wearing one of the oversized hotel robes. The tears I’d been fighting all afternoon finally came, and somewhere between crying into the pillow and replaying everything Queen said over and over in my head, I slowly drifted off to sleep.
The last thing I remembered thinking before exhaustion finally claimed me was how none of this was supposed to be my life. I never asked for wars, suppliers, pipelines, or men whose names carried enough weight to stop entire cities. I asked for love. Instead...I fell in love with the storm.
Sometime later, I felt the mattress dip under the weight of another body, the subtle shift pulling me from the edge of sleep. The faint scent of expensive whiskey lingered in the air, wrapping around me before I even fully opened my eyes.
A familiar pair of lips brushed softly against my forehead, lingering there for a moment before trailing down to my cheek in a quiet, almost hesitant gesture.
I blinked slowly, my vision adjusting just enough to make out Isaiah sitting beside me.
His shoulders, once tense and rigid, had finally relaxed, and the anger that had consumed him earlier was nowhere to be found.
In its place, there was only exhaustion, heavy and undeniable, settling over him like a weight he could no longer carry.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Still half asleep, I reached for his hand.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you.
Can’t you see that I love your stupid ass?
” The words sat between us, and for the first time since I’d met Isaiah, he looked completely caught off guard.
Every bit of confidence he carried seemed to disappear as he searched my face like he was trying to understand how we got here.
“Say something, Isaiah.” His mouth opened, before he looked away. “I...” He stalled, rubbing the back of his neck as though the words simply refused to come.
Everything inside me broke. I tried to roll away from him, but he reached over and gently caught my wrist before I could create the distance I desperately needed.
“Hold on, Kayla...damn.” He let out a breath, shaking his head. “A nigga don’t just be tossing out ‘I love you’s’ like Oprah giving out cars.” He sat there quietly for a moment before looking back at me.
“You know I’m crazy about you, Sour Patch.” I searched his face, hoping there was more. There wasn’t.
“You just don’t love me...right?” I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. He remained quiet. That silence hurt more than any answer ever could. I laughed to keep myself from crying harder.
“Yayo...get the fuck out my face before I swing on yo bitch ass.” His head jerked back, and the softness that had been there only seconds ago disappeared behind a hard stare.
“What chu say?”
“You heard me.”
He gripped my cheeks hard enough for them to graze my teeth. “Say it again.” He gritted low.
“Call me a bitch again, I fucking dare you.” He held my cheeks firm, making my jaw hurt.
It wasn’t until tears slid down my face did he let go and climb out of the bed.
I released the breath I’d been holding and silently cried, bringing my hands to my head.
I pulled the blankets tighter around myself and turned away from him, wiping at the tears that refused to stop falling.
He remained sitting on the edge of the bed for another minute before finally standing.
I heard him let out a frustrated breath, and walk toward the door.
The suite fell silent again. I brought both hands to my head and cried into the pillow, replaying every decision that had brought me here.
Somewhere between loving him and trying to understand him, I’d lost pieces of myself I wasn’t sure I knew how to get back.
I should’ve listened to Ysis, because this was never going to work. What the fuck was I even thinking? First chance I got, I was leaving this psychotic ass nigga in the wind. I’m too real of a bitch for this shit.