Noles #3
Jules moved fast. One second he was by the cabinet, the next he was across the room, his hand clamped around Nia's face.
His grip was brutal. fingers dug into her jaw, thumb pressin' hard against her cheek as he shoved her back until her shoulders hit the wall with a dull thud.
She gasped. My chest tightened watchin the scene play out.
"Nia," he snarled, finger jammin in the center of her forehead, "I want my mutha fuckin' baeebby.
" He squeezed her face harder, like he needed her to feel every ounce of what he was feelin'.
"You see all this shit your hoe ass stirred up?
" he yelled. "Huh? You see it? Answer me, gah damn it! " Nobody moved and nobody breathed.
"He took my baeebbyy, Nia," Jules roared, his voice shakin' the room.
"I'ma kill that nigga. I'ma kill him. And that blood on your hands.
You hear me? On your hands." Nia whimpered, her face twistin in pain as his grip tightened.
"And if you think for one fuckin' second you gon' get in my way," he continued, eyes wild, manic, "I'll kill yo' mutha fuckin' ass too.
Till death do we fuckin' part." The words hit like gunshots.
I felt the room recoil. This wasn't anger anymore, this was grief with fuckin teeth.
"I loved you since we was kids, Nia," he said suddenly, his voice breakin', goin' thin and fragile in a way that scared me more than the yellin. "I'll always love you. But you done broke a nigga heart with this shit." I moved hearing the emotion behind his voice.
"Juste," Chiana said softly, like she was afraid her voice might shatter something.
In sync, no words needed, me, Juste, and Pierre crossed the room.
"Ju, come on, man," Pierre said, grabbin' his shoulder.
"Let her go." Jules didn't hear him or see him.
His world was Nia and the wall behind her and the rage eatin' him alive.
Her face twisted again, pain flashin' sharp across it.
"Juste, he gon' hurt her, man," I said, the words tumblin out before I could stop 'em.
Juste didn't hesitate. "Jules!" he barked.
"That's enough!" He grabbed him hard, wrenchin' him back.
Jules resisted for half a second, like he just might kill her, then finally released her.
Nia slid down the wall, knees bucklin'. Amina rushed to her side, Chiana right behind her, hands already soothin, voices low and steady.
Jules stood there, chest heavin', eyes glassy, lookin' at Juste like he didn't recognize him.
"Brudda," he said hoarsely, "I want my fuckin' baeebby.
Do ya hear me?" Juste didn't answer. He just wrapped an arm around Jules' shoulders and steered him toward the door.
"Come on," he said. "You need air before you do some shit you can't take back.
" We followed them outside, leavin' the women inside with Nia and the weight of what had just happened.
As the door shut behind us, I knew one thing for sure, this whole situation was causin more bullshit than any of us could've imagined
—
Juliana had been gone four days. Each one heavier than the last. I watched my brother unravel piece by piece, right in front of me. Jules hadn't slept. I knew because I hadn't either. Sleep felt like betrayal. Like if I closed my eyes, some shit would happen and I wouldn't be there to stop it.
Every time my phone buzzed, my heart jumped into my throat.
Every time it didn't, my jaw clenched tighter.
The Baptistes disappeared like ghosts. Their family house was empty.
Curtains pulled. Lights dead. That big iron gate chained shut like nobody had ever lived there at all.
Every legit business they owned posted signs about "temporary closure.
" Every underground operation Fidel built from the ground up, I spent my late nights robbin' the shit out they ass and leavin' bodies where money used to be.
Strip joints.
Dice houses.
Drop spots.
Storage units.
I hit everything that even smelled like Baptiste money. We leveled the Baptiste name piece by piece. tore their roots out the ground, salted the soil but still, not a peep. No calls. No sightings. No movement. Like they vanished into thin air with my niece.
I sat in the office at Velvet, counting money under low lights, the hum of the building buzzin faint in the background.
The black leather bracelet slid along my wrist every time I moved my arm.
Ayida made it for me. wove it herself, fingers patient, deliberate.
She braided different shit into it. Roots.
Beads. Little knots she wouldn't explain all the way.
"Protection," she said. "For your spirit.
" I had the necklace to match, tucked under my shirt, resting right over my chest. Sometimes I swore it tightened when my thoughts went too dark.
"How much from the last four nights?" Juste asked from behind the desk, eyes scannin paperwork like numbers could explain the missing baby.
"Two-fifty total," I said, banding up the cash with practiced hands.
My fingers were steady but my mind wasn't. "Them mutha fuckas around," Juste muttered, irritation sharp in his voice.
"Two hundred bands all they left on the street?
They ain't crossed state lines yet. What the fuck am I missin'?
" He wasn't talkin' to us as much as he was talkin' to himself.
Pierre leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin.
"What about before Fidel got all his shit?
Any old family property? Land? Some shit they don't talk about? "
"Nah," Juste said, shaking his head. "That nigga ain't have shit.
His people either. I triple-checked." Jules sat off in the corner, quiet, cup in his hand.
He hadn't said much in days. Didn't need to.
The grief sat on him like a second skin.
His eyes were hollow. His jaw stayed tight.
He looked like a man holding himself together with willpower and nothing else.
I didn't say what I was thinkin'. That disappearin' like this felt intentional and the longer this dragged on, the more dangerous it got. Didn't say that if they hurt Juliana…I stopped myself right there. Anger was easier than fear. Fear made you hesitate. Anger kept you movin'.
My phone buzzed on the desk. I snatched it up before it could vibrate again. Ayida, no message. Just her name lighting the screen. I stared at it longer than I should've.
She'd been quiet these last few days too, not distant, just watchful, and givin me my space. Like she was listening to something I couldn't hear. She prayed more. Touched my me more. Looked at me longer before I left the house.
I slid the phone face down. Didn't trust myself to look at it again. Juste watched me from across the desk like he was readin' the shift in my eyes instead of my face. He leaned back slow in the chair, voice low, measured. "Shoot her a text. Let her know you aight."
"Nah," I said, already reachin' for the next stack of money.
My fingers moved automatically, muscle memory takin' over while my mind went somewhere darker.
"I'ma slide home in a lil'. Spend a couple hours.
" Truth was, I needed to see her. Needed to feel her hand on my chest. Needed to remind myself I was still human.
Before Juste could respond "Woaaaa" Jules said sudden, sharp.
He stood up fast, phone already in his hand, answerin' before the second ring could die.
He hit speaker without thinkin', like instinct knew this wasn't a private conversation.
The other end was quiet. Jules frowned. His shoulders squared.
"Wassam," he said, voice tight. A second passed.
"You ready to let me have my family, St. Jean?
" Nash's voice slid through the room smooth and smug, like he was enjoyin' himself. Like this was a game.
I watched Jules' nose flare. His jaw locked so tight I thought his teeth might crack.
"Ion give a fuck what you and Nia got goin'," Jules snapped, voice cold, controlled in that way that only meant one thing.
"I want my mutha fuckin' baeebby. You and that bitch can run off into the sunset if you want. "
Nash laughed. "Man, how many times I gotta tell you," Nash said, amused.
"That ain't your baeebby. I got paperwork on that.
" Something in Jules was fucked up about what he said.
I saw it and felt it. "Fuck yo pussy-whooped ass and that paperwork you claim you got," Jules roared, vein jumpin' out his forehead. "Tell me where you at, fuck nigga!"
"Drop the lo, bitch ass nigga!" I barked from behind him, chair screechin' as I stood up. Pierre was already movin'. Juste's hand hit the desk hard.
Nash didn't sound rattled. That's what pissed me off the most. "You want her back," Nash said calmly, like he was negotiatin' property, not talkin' about a child.
"Buy her back. Let me see how deep them St. Jean pockets really get.
" The room went dead still. "A million dollars," Nash continued.
"Cash. No funny shit. I send you the drop-off location. "
Jules' breathing was loud now. Ragged. His knuckles were white around the phone. "You touch one hair on my baeebbyy head..." Jules started. Click. The line went dead.
I stared at the phone in Jules' hand like it might start ringin' again on its own. I felt my teeth grind. That wasn't a ransom. That was disrespect. That was a challenge.
We spent the next couple hours movin' like ghosts quiet, efficient, angry. Cash got pulled from places without questions. Safes cracked open. Envelopes stacked. Rubber bands snapped. Nobody joked. Nobody talked about what came after. We all knew better.
A million dollars sat on the desk eventually, ugly and heavy, lookin' like blood before it ever got spilled.
And then, nothing came.
No call.
No text.
No coordinates.
Just silence. I checked my phone more times than I wanted to admit. Each time the screen stayed dark, my patience died a little more.
By the time the sky started to lighten outside the windows, that sick blue gray before sunrise, Juste finally stood up and rubbed his face. "Go get some sleep," he said, voice rough. "We ain't doin' nobody no good like this." Pierre nodded. I didn't argue.
Jules did. "I ain't leavin'," he said flat, sittin' back down like the chair was part of him now. His eyes were red, empty. Gone somewhere I couldn't reach. "If that phone ring, I'm answerin' it."
Juste stared at him for a long second, then nodded once. "Aight."
I walked out last. The door closed behind me with a soft click, but it sounded loud as hell in my head.
As I stepped into the morning air, I felt it settle in my chest. This wasn't over. This was just the part where everybody still breathin' thought they had time.
Little did they know they didn't.
Not anymore.