Chapter 21
JELANI BANKS
“I gotta go,” I told Shea after hanging up with Money.
She sat up in the bed, the sheets slipping down to her waist. “What’s going on?” she asked, handing me my t-shirt.
“My brother needs me. It’s an emergency.” I grabbed my wallet and keys off the nightstand.
“But you’ll come back after, right?” she asked hopefully.
Truthfully, I shouldn’t have even been here. But Shea was a pretty face with a fat ass and deep throat. Ever since Monica started curving me, I’d been hitting her up more often than I’d cared to admit.
Monica. Shit. I should call her about Jasmine.
“Nah. But I’ma holla at you,” I said, walking out of the room. I rushed through the front door, hopped in my car, and called Slim as soon as the Bluetooth connected.
“‘Sup,” he answered.
“Some shit went down with the nurse. Money said hit that nigga’s shipment tonight,” I said, backing out of the driveway.
“The fuck? I don’t know if I have enough time to get everybody together.”
“Make that shit work. Marcus snatched Jasmine, so you already know Money finna burn shit down behind her. Get it done and call me when y’all in position,”
“Shit,” Slim muttered. “Yeah, aight. I got you. I’ll hit you back.”
I cut through traffic, praying I wouldn't get pulled over for speeding. I needed to hit my condo for some heat. I dialed Monica next. She sent me to voicemail twice, but finally she answered.
“What do you want?” she asked. I could hear the impatience in her voice.
“Jasmine’s missing,” I said, cutting off a slow car.
“What? I just saw her when I got off work.” I heard rustling and a low voice in the background.
“Yo, who you got over there?” I snapped.
“Lani, you just told me Jasmine’s missing, and now you’re worried about who’s here? You a nut ass nigga, you know that?”
“Damn right I wanna know who’s at my girl’s crib,” I shot back.
She sucked her teeth. “Are you calling ‘cause you want my help? Want me to call the hospital?”
“I’m actually ‘bout to come get you. We’ll go together.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“Monica, have your thick ass ready in thirty. And tell the nigga you got over there your man’s coming through—and I’m a shooter. Don’t play with me.” I hung up and floored it.
I double-parked in front of my building and put the hazards on. I stormed through the lobby and punched the elevator button to my penthouse. My phone vibrated, and I answered without checking.
“Her phone is still pinging at the hospital,” Money said tightly.
I’d never heard my brother worked up about anyone like this before. No woman had ever gotten under his skin the way Jasmine did. He didn’t say it out right, but the way he moved when he talked and acted around her made it obvious. That nigga worshipped the ground she walked on.
He was in love.
“I’m picking up Monica and heading over there. I’ll see if I can get footage and find her phone,” I replied. “You hear from Nai?”
“Yeah. She’s gonna bring Kyree to the crib. I’m taking him down to the basement. Come through when you’re done at the hospital.”
“Bet. Slim’s rounding up the crew to hit the shipment. He’s not happy about it, but he knows what it is.”
“Good,” Money replied, ending the call.
I stood in the entryway of my condo, heart racing as adrenaline pumped through me. We’d been to war before, but this wasn’t that. This wasn’t business. We didn’t know what we were walking into, what resources Marcus had, or what he’d do after his shipment was destroyed.
“I hope she’s worth it, bruh,” I muttered aloud as I stormed into my office.
I flipped open the hidden panel and punched in the code.
There was a soft click, and then the bookshelf split open to reveal my gun cache.
I grabbed the duffle bag on the floor and started tossing shit into it—handguns, extra clips, knives, gloves, and a small med kit.
I needed to be prepared for anything.
By the time I was back at my car, my chest was tight, my mind spinning with a hundred different ways this could play out. If Marcus hurt Jasmine, Money was gonna burn all this shit down.
The drive to Monica’s was a blur. I kept wondering just how far my brother was willing to go to get his girl back.
As I pulled up, I spotted Monica already sitting in the lobby of her building. I honked twice to get her attention.
“I’m only here because of my friend,” she grumbled as she got in.
“And because you missed me,” I teased, leaning over to kiss her cheek.
She mushed me in the face. “Don’t even start.”
“Can’t help it,” I grinned, pulling onto the street.
She glanced over, her expression softening. “It was Marcus, wasn’t it?”
“How you know?”
“That nigga gave me weirdo vibes at the club. The way he was looking at her…” She shuddered. “Something was off. But she kept telling me he was harmless.”
“Hm,” I hummed. “So, who you had over at your place?”
She scoffed. “Here you go with this shit again.”
“What you mean?” I asked, tightening my grip on the steering wheel.
She turned to face me, narrowing her eyes. “One minute, you act like we go together, and the next, you’re laid up with one of your bitches. I’m sure that’s what you were doing before you picked me up.”
I pressed down on the gas when the light turned green.
“Exactly,” she said, shifting in the seat. “Like I fucking thought.”
I huffed out a frustrated breath. “I told you—I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, you are sorry,” she muttered.
“I’ve been trying to show you I’m serious, Mo’.” I said, pulling into the hospital lot. “It’s just hard to balance everything.”
She sucked her teeth. “Balance? Jelani, the only thing you know how to balance is a bitch on your dick. And you can keep doing that, ‘cause I had a life before you and I’ll have one after you. It’s not like there’s a shortage of niggas outside.”
I didn’t say shit because I couldn’t argue with the truth.
“Can’t keep your dick in your pants, but ready to knock somebody’s head off if they look at me. Like I said—a nut ass nigga.”
Monica hopped out as soon as I parked, like she couldn’t wait to be out of my presence.
“Yo! Mo’, wait up.”
She paused long enough for me to catch up. “This is about Jasmine, not us. Save whatever sob story you got for later.” She spun on her heel and kept walking. Even with her face all screwed up, she was so damn pretty.
I ran my hand down my face as I followed her. “You don’t gotta act like this,” I muttered under my breath.
She gave me another dirty look. “Lani, shut the fuck up and focus.” She plastered a smile on her face as we reached the reception desk.
“Hey, Ms. Wanda,” she chirped at an older Black woman behind the counter.
Ms. Wanda looked up from her phone and smiled over her readers. “Monica! What you doing back here? I thought you got off already. Forget something?” She side-eyed me curiously. “And who’s this? Your boyfriend?”
Monica jumped in before I could answer. “Uh, actually, Ms. Wanda, I think I left my badge somewhere. Just wanted to check if it ended up with security. Who’s down there tonight?”
Ms. Wanda flipped through a stack of papers. “Looks like Richie.”
Monica’s smile stayed perfectly sweet, like she wasn’t just cursing my ass out. “Thanks so much, Ms. Wanda!”
“Why you ain’t introduce me?” I fell in step beside her and hooked a finger in her belt loop. She slapped my hand away and pressed the elevator button.
I really hated the silent treatment from her. I cleared my throat. “Baby Doll—”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, giving me another hard look as the elevator doors slid open. We stepped inside, and she hit the button for the lower level. She stared ahead, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently as the numbers ticked down.
She moved with purpose toward the security office when we reached the basement.
I trailed behind her and watched as she pushed open the door labeled Peachtree Memorial Security.
The room was cramped, lined with filing cabinets and glowing TV monitors.
Richie, a Black man in his mid-forties, was chillin’ at the desk with his feet kicked up.
He looked up and smiled when he saw her.
“What’s up, Mo’ baby?” he greeted her, a little too warmly for my liking.
“Hey, boo,” she cooed, batting her eyelashes. I rolled my eyes, but Richie’s ass ate that shit up. “I need a huge favor. It’s an emergency.”
He sat up, so transfixed on Monica that he barely noticed me. “What you need?”
“Something happened to Jasmine,” she said. “She got snatched in the parking garage, and we need to see the footage.”
Richie’s smile vanished. “Jasmine got what?! You need to call the police.”
Monica shook her head. “This ain’t for them, boo. I know this breaks every rule in the book, but I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t serious.”
Richie finally looked over at me and sized me up. “Who’s this?”
“Her—” I started, but Monica balled up my mouth in her hand.
“Jasmine’s boyfriend’s brother. He’s helping me.”
Richie’s face tightened. “Monica… If anybody finds out, I could lose my job.”
This was getting us nowhere. I reached for the piece tucked in my waistband and leveled it at him. “We don’t have time for all this.”
Richie jumped up and reached for his service weapon, eyes wide.
“Jelani, put the damn gun down!” Monica said, throwing herself between us. “Richie, chill!”
“Monica, what the hell is going on?” Richie demanded, eyes wide.
I rolled my head and squared my shoulders. I was losing patience. “Say, man, just pull up the fucking footage so we can go.”
The gun in his hand trembled—he wasn’t built for this. The nigga probably never fired that thing in his whole career.
“Please, Richie,” Monica pleaded.
He hesitated, eyes flicking from her to me, and nodded.
Monica sighed in relief. “Thank you! We clocked out around 8:00 p.m. We were on the third floor in the garage.”
Richie dropped back into his chair and started typing.
We stepped behind the desk as the footage loaded. He toggled through the timestamps until he landed on 8:00 p.m.
“There,” he said, tapping the monitor.
The grainy footage showed Monica and Jasmine entering the garage and talking. After a few seconds, the feed froze and skipped.
Richie frowned. He rewound the video and pressed play, but it froze again in the same spot.
“That’s weird. It shouldn’t be doing that.”
“Y'all got any other cameras on that floor?” I asked.
He typed again, switching to a second feed. This one was corrupted, Motoo.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
Richie slumped back in his chair with a defeated look. “Sorry, Mo’. Looks like the whole feed’s corrupted.”
“How’s that even possible?” Monica asked, looking at me.
“Marcus probably hacked the system,” I muttered, pulling out my phone to text Fontaine. “Let’s go.”
“Thanks, Richie. And sorry for all the fuss,” she smiled apologetically and walked out ahead of me.
I turned to him, giving him a hard look. “Next time you reach for your weapon, make sure you’re ready to shoot, ‘cause I don’t miss.” I rapped my knuckles on the desk and followed Monica out.