8. Kyrie Maddox
The TV flickered with some postgame analysis I couldn’t give a fuck about. The light from the screen hit the table, the remote, and my phone sitting face down beside me. I shifted against the leather, and the sling pulled across my chest.
Sianni stayed on my mind. The way she looked earlier, all innocent and shit, like she ain’t know what she was doing. Her body was saying something completely different. The way she was breathing changed when I got close. The way she bit her bottom lip, like she ain’t even realize she was doing it.
Then my mind went right back to that other part.
She snapped back at me. My jaw tightened a little as I thought about it.
Most females would’ve folded when I checked them.
They’d get quiet and try to fix it. But not her.
Nawl, she was a different story. Shorty came right back at me like she had something to prove, like she wasn’t scared at all.
I leaned my head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling fan, running my fingers over my head slowly. The look she had and the way her voice stayed steady, how she wouldn't back down. That shit had me locked in for real.
I reached for the remote and flipped through channels. Basketball. News. Some cooking show. Nothing held.
My phone buzzed against the leather. Thomas lit up the screen. Could be my agent, could be the nigga from my team. I snatched it up. Both of them had the same name.
“Yeah.”
“You see this?” he asked, getting straight to it.
It was my agent.
My brows slightly pulled together. “See what?”
There was a pause, then, “You need to get your girl.”
My whole body went still. “The fuck you talkin’ about?”
“Paparazzi all around her, and that shit is already hitting the blogs.”
I slowly sat up, the room going quiet around me. “What?”
“I’m looking at it right now,” he continued. “They’re asking her about the shooting, about you, hell, about everything. You ain’t got security with her?”
My grip tightened around the phone. “Nawl.”
“Well, you might wanna fix that before this shit gets out of hand.”
The call ended, and I sat there for a second, staring at nothing, before reaching for the remote again and flipping to a sports channel.
It didn’t take long for the clip to appear—Sianni and Drayla trying to get to the car, cameras flashing in her face, reporters crowding her like she was the story.
“Fuck.”
I pushed off the couch, pacing as I dragged my hand over my face.
My arm pulled against the sling, and I hissed low, but that shit didn’t slow me down.
I grabbed my phone, pulled up her name, and hit call.
It rang and rang. I sucked my teeth, ended the call, then tried again, but there was still nothing.
My chest rose slowly and controlled, but the tension was building fast. I wasn’t even mad at her. I was mad they even got that close.
I snatched my keys off the table, already moving, and paused when my eyes dropped to the sling… “Fuck.” I stood there for a second before turning and dropping back onto the couch, running my hand over my face.
I took my phone from my pocket, dialed the number that I needed, and lifted the phone to my ear, my eyes dragging across the room. The line barely rang before it clicked.
“Aye, yo. Wassup? You good?” Smoke’s voice came through, like always.
A low chuckle slipped out of me. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“Good,” he said, his tone shifting just enough. “I heard what happened. You know who did it?”
A sharp smile touched my lips, the kind that didn’t reach my eyes. “Yeah, I know.”
Smoke exhaled a heavy breath. “Bet. So, who is it?”
I leaned forward with my elbow on my knees, dragging my tongue across my teeth before I answered.
“Jamal.”
There was a quick pause this time, and there was no doubt he was just processing it.
“Jamal?” he asked, his tone shocked. “Yo’ teammate?”
“Was,” I corrected him, my voice flat. “The nigga shot me.”
“Say less. That nigga owes me some fuckin’ money,” Smoke replied. “But what the fuck did that nigga shoot you for?”
I leaned back into the couch. “He said some slick shit about Sianni, and I whooped his ass for it.”
Smoke let out a short laugh. “So, the nigga was on some hoe shit, basically.”
“Basically,” I muttered. “But you already know I can’t move how I want right now with this sling and cameras on me all the time. That shit is dead.”
“Yeah, I know,” he replied, his tone shifting just a little. “That’s why I gotchu.”
I shook my head, eyes dropping for a second. “Nawl, I ain’t trying to throw you in the middle of that.”
“Man, fuck all that,” Smoke cut in. “As I said, he owes me some money, and that nigga has been ducking me.”
That pulled a smirk out of me. “Bet, but what the fuck is he doing borrowing from you in the first place?”
Smoke huffed out a breath. “Came to me for some bullshit. I don’t even remember what it was. All I know is he’s been dodging me ever since, and you know how I get about my money.”
“Yeah,” I said, letting out a low laugh. “You don’t play about that shit.”
“Not at all,” he replied. “Soon as I catch up with that nigga, though, I’m handling it.”
I nodded to myself, even though he couldn’t see me. “Good looking.”
“Always,” he said. “But wifey just got in, and I got something to take care of.”
I smirked, already knowing what type of time he was on. “Aight, bruh. I’ll hit you later.”
Smoke and his girl were into that BDSM shit—on some kinky freaky type time. Some shit I ain’t even know if I’d be into like that.
After we got off the phone, I let my phone drop beside me on the couch, my eyes drifting back to the TV, even though I still wasn’t watching it.
A few minutes later, the front door opened.
I turned my head just enough to catch Sianni stepping inside.
She dropped her purse and keys on the counter—the sound louder than it needed to be—and then made her way to the living room and sat down next to me.
The couch dipped under her weight. She smelled like outside, like perfume and city air.
The tension rolled off her in waves.
“You aight, ma?”
“Yeah, I'm good.” She let out a breath that sounded like she'd been holding it for blocks.
I studied her profile. The set of her jaw. The way her hands rested in her lap, fingers twisted together.
“You sure? I saw them muthafuckas swarming you like vultures on TV.”
“Yeah, I'm good.” She turned toward me. “How are you doing?”
My jaw tightened. She’d just gotten mobbed by reporters, and she was worried about me.
“My arm hurts, but I'm straight.”
“Do you need anything for it?” She leaned closer, her knee brushing mine. “The doctor gave you something for the pain.”
“Nawl, I'm good, ma.”
“You sure?”
I glanced at her, then away. “Yeah.”
The pill bottle was still in the bathroom, untouched. I'd seen too many niggas get hooked on that shit after injuries, walking around spaced out, needing it just to get through the day. That wasn't gonna be me. I'd take the pain.
I shifted on the couch. She'd gone quiet, but I could still see it on her—everything from earlier sitting heavy on her shoulders.
“Aye, ma… come here.” I tilted my head toward her.
“Wassup? You okay?” Her gaze swept over me, checking.
“Yeah, I'm straight. I just need you a little closer.”
She didn't question it. Just shifted until her thigh pressed against mine, warm through the fabric of her shorts.
“I'm right here. Now what?” A soft laugh slipped out.
I glanced at her before speaking, letting my hand come to rest on her leg. “I'm sorry I got you caught up in this shit. You wasn't supposed to be in my world like this, not this fast.”
She shook her head, brushing it off. “You good, Kyrie. I'm not tripping. Besides, I knew what I was getting myself into when I agreed to be your wife.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“And how you figure that?”
“’Cause I've seen the blogs, and I’ve seen movies.” She laughed.
I couldn't help but laugh too, shaking my head. “You funny.”
Shorty was green as hell. And I liked that shit more than I should've.
“Lemme ask you something, though.” My tone shifted as my thumb brushed against her leg. “Might be a lil' outta pocket, but I wanna know.”
She looked at me, then nodded. “Okay.”
“When the last time you had sex?”
Her head snapped toward me. “What the hell, Kyrie?”
I shrugged, watchin’ her face. “I'm just asking.”
She let out a breath and shrugged right back. “I don't know.”
“Mm.” A smirk pulled at my mouth as my fingers pressed a little firmer against her thigh.
She narrowed her gaze. “Why you asking me that?”
I leaned back just a little and let my stare drag over her before settling on her face. “’Cause I'm trying to see what I'm working with when I decide to slide in you.”
She smirked and didn't back down. “What makes you think you getting this?”
“Two reasons.”
“Okay, and what are they?”
“’Cause one, I can tell when your body is reacting to me.” My voice dropped lower. “And two, you my wife.”
“That doesn't mean anything.” She folded one leg under her, her shoulder brushing mine. “And I'm not your real wife.”
I tilted my head, locked onto her. “Who said you wasn't? Last time I checked, you got my ring on your finger, and we went down to that courthouse and signed them papers.”
She had me fucked up if she thought this was temporary. Being around her had me looking at shit differently, and we hadn't even been married that long.
But a nigga knew what he wanted when he saw it.
“I guess.” Her voice came out quieter this time.
I didn't say nothing else. Just leaned in, slid my hand up to the side of her neck, and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.
She kissed me back, and I felt the way she leaned into it just a little before catching herself. Her hand came up and rested against my chest—not pushing me away, but not letting me pull her in all the way either.
My lips moved against hers, slower this time, testing her, seeing how far she was really gonna let me go. My hand stayed wrapped around her neck, tightening just enough to keep her right there, not hurting her—just reminding her.