Chapter 26 Nyce Monday | 219pm
Nyce
That last look Princess gave me stayed with me longer than I wanted it to. I couldn’t lie and tell her the sex meant nothing or that her sleeping on my chest felt like home. That wasn’t who I was, and I knew that shit fucked with her because my head was gone too.
“Yo.” Crook’s voice pulled me out of my own head. He was off the phone now, pacing back toward the car. “Shawn and Flip got him. Warehouse.”
I nodded once. “Let’s finish it.”
I sparked the blunt as he drove. The smoke moved slowly through my lungs, like it was trying to calm something down in me I wasn’t ready to name.
I was steady on the outside. But inside?
I was already somewhere else. Running back every word Princess said.
Every tear. And I swear, I wanted to hem her little ass up and fuck her to sleep for putting her hands on me again. Missed opportunity.
I was good, though. I knew she would be straight. The hotel was booked for a couple of weeks while she figured shit out. I had one last move to end all this dumb shit and then I was taking a fucking vacation.
“Bro,” Crook started to say as I handed him the blunt. “Lemme ask you something?”
“And that is?”
He hesitated for a second, leaning to the left, gripping the wheel as he drove through the city. “I been watching you and I peeped that shit outside the church with ol’ girl. What’s up?”
I turned my head fully then, my glare sharp. “Fuck you mean what’s up?”
“Nigga, what’s up? I been knowing you how long?
I can tell you letting that girl pull at shit you buried a long time ago.
” I didn’t speak. Just stared at him while that last sentence bounced around in my head.
Crook kept going. “She ain’t the first bitch you done held hostage from a muthafucka who owes you bread, but with her, you moving hella different.
Ain’t no way this is strictly business.”
“Watch yourself.”
“I am,” he said, turning his head finally to meet my stare. “You the one who ain’t.”
For a second, I wanted to swing on this nigga.
Just off GP. But the truth was, I just didn’t like the way Crook hit too close.
I watched as he took a deep pull from the blunt and passed it back to me.
I looked away, smoking and exhaling out the cracked window.
The silence hung for a moment with heavy tension in it before I addressed it.
“You know what your problem is?” I said calmly, not even looking at him.
Crook chuckled low. “What, Nyce?”
“You’re a feelings type of nigga. Always been.
Falling for strippers and chasing hood dreams with bitches who can’t spell loyalty on their best day.
That’s you, Crook.” He squinted, but didn’t argue.
He just kept driving, nodding slowly. “But me?” I tapped the ash out the window.
“I don’t mix what’s real with what’s feel.
I don’t fuck with shit too complicated. That girl?
She was just there when the time came. Pussy was available. Simple as that.”
He side-eyed me. “You ain’t gotta lie to kick it, bro.”
“When have I lied to you, muthafucka? I’m speaking facts. I got my money. Brought the preacher to his fuckin’ knees. And now, it’s done. I don’t wanna hear no more shit about Princess. Dead that shit.”
Crook let out a breath before he finally said, “Bet.”
We locked eyes for a second, then nothing else was said.
The rest of the ride was quiet except for Duffle Bag Trappy’s song, “Life’s Too Short,” that boomed through the speakers.
Smoke twisted through the air, and a bottle of D’USSé rested on the floor between my legs.
I leaned back, letting the blunt burn down, my mind already shifting gears.
My phone buzzed on my thigh with a text from Belvin letting me know he’d dropped Princess off to the hotel.
I stared at the screen for a second, thumb hovering.
Then I locked it, dropped it face down in my lap, and kept staring out the window.
I told myself it was over. I’d gotten what I needed. So why the fuck did I still feel her?
???
Monday | 3:02pm
That thick, metallic scent of blood and steel, cut with the bite of ammonia, diesel, and fresh plastic, hit my nose the second we stepped inside the warehouse. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, buzzing low, casting sharp shadows over organized chaos.
To the left, my runners were bagging up work with gloved hands.
Kilos of the purest cocaine powder were getting broken down, weighed, and sealed tight in vacuum packs before sliding into duffel bags.
A table full of youngins worked in silence, headphones in, heads low, eyes sharp.
One of them looked up, nodded when he saw me, then got back to it as his life depended on it.
Further back, crates of artillery, like Russian-made AKs, Glocks, and custom shotties, were being loaded and wrapped in shrink wrap, like Christmas came early. Pablo was popping inventory off a clipboard, calling out serial numbers while Ahkbar labeled the boxes with cities.
To the right, another crew was sorting stacks of burner phones and counterfeit IDs.
Paperwork, delivery routes, and untraceable licenses.
Whole side hustle just moving identities like candy bars while a couple of couches sat near the middle, where two of my older heads sat playing.
And above all, my cameras captured everything on a 24-hour feed, with audio.
Crook and I walked past the tables and made our way toward the back.
Lighting another blunt as I moved, I thought about how clean this mayor nigga got snatched.
How easy that shit really was once I set the play in motion.
All that power, all that pride, but he was still a man at the end of the day, and all men had weaknesses. His was women.
I’d sent a pretty, thick light skin bitch with a little corporate swag on the outside, but wild underneath to City Hall.
Reesha knew how to play her part and bumped into Don “by accident,” started dropping compliments, laughing at corny jokes, and asking all the right questions.
She told him she admired his work and passion for changing the city.
One drink turned to three. Then came the coke.
Then came the pussy. By the time everything caught up to him, he was lit, his heart racing and his head gone.
She got him right where I needed him with powder on his nose and the city seal still pinned to his blazer on the floor.
She snapped pictures and quickly sent them to me before my niggas moved in, snatching him up.
Pointer was leaning up against the wall near the bleedout room with his arms crossed and a Glock tucked. That scar on his face caught the light when he nodded at me. “This nigga done pissed himself and shit,” he laughed, and I just dapped him up, shaking my head.
“Wait out here,” I instructed Crook before unlocking the door. I stepped inside, and my eyes locked on the man in the chair.
Don groaned when I got close and tried to lift his head like it didn’t weigh more than his own guilt. “You got some fucking nerve,” he rasped, spit and blood slicking his chin. “You don’t walk away from this. Not with her. Not with anything.”
I chuckled, leaning on the edge of the desk. I took a deep pull from the blunt and blew smoke his way. “You’ve always been the type to hide behind cameras and clean suits, thinking power comes from votes and speeches. But real power isn’t something you campaign for.”
He clenched his jaw. “You think taking Princess makes you a man, nigga? You think you win ‘cause you stole what ain’t yours?”
I let out a breath through my nose. “She was never yours to take.”
He coughed, hard, shoulder jerking against the rope. “I bought her a muthafucking ring.”
I tilted my head, inhaling the weed. “So?” His breathing was shaky now. That panic was setting in. “That ring was a leash,” I murmured. “You tried to buy obedience and put a price on her loyalty. You thought because you gave her a title, she was yours.”
“She is mine,” he spat, voice ragged.
I stood up. “No,” I said. “She was scared. Trapped. Suffocating. And the moment she saw a door crack open, she ran straight through it to me.” I paused. “That pussy was good, too.”
He struggled like he wanted to lunge, but the ropes did what they were supposed to.
I walked a slow circle around him, voice even as I smoked. “See, the problem with muthafuckas like you is that y’all confuse ownership with love. You confuse control with respect. But Princess?” I shook my head. “She doesn’t belong to no man. She chooses who she stands beside, and she chooses me.”
He laughed.“And what? You think she’s safer with your thug ass? Please! She’s just confused. What’s that shit called? Stockholm syndrome!”
I stopped behind him, close enough for him to feel me there.
“Fuck all that,” I said, voice low, “she’s free.
” Don’s silence told me he finally understood.
I came back around to face him. “Now. Here’s how this plays out.
” He glared up at me. “You’re gonna stop campaigning for reelection.
You’re gonna hold a press conference announcing your leave of office and announce a massive multi-million-dollar urban development initiative. ”
He blinked slowly. “What?”
“On the Northside,” I said, taking another pull and exhaling. “Gated community. Groundbreaking this fall. All contracts run through my shell company, and you’ll sign off on it live in City Hall.”
“Fuck. You.”
I pulled the Glock from my waistband and pressed it to the side of his temple. The metal kissed his skin, and he jumped like it bit him. “You got three seconds to change that tone,” I said, pausing for just a second. “Three.”
“Wait,” he panted, his good eye wild. “Wait… don’t! I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”
I pulled the gun back. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
He sagged, chest heaving. The suit looked even smaller on him now. “What about Princess?” he asked, breath hitching.
I stilled. “What about her?” I asked flatly, ashing the blunt on the desk.
“You… are you gonna give her back? Please, Nyce. Just give her back, man.”
I stepped forward, slowly. The heat in my chest didn’t show in my voice. “You don’t speak her name. You don’t ask about her. You don’t even fucking think about her.” He opened his mouth. I raised the gun again, this time under his chin. “You lost that right when a real nigga slid up inside her.”
If looks could kill, I would’ve been dead, but thankfully, I was the only killer in the room. I lowered the gun and walked towards the door, opening it.
Nodding at Crook and Pointer, I said, “Make sure he gets home in one piece. I want him patched up, clean-shaved, camera-ready, and well-rested for his speech in a couple of days. Security posted.”
Pointer smirked. “You got it. I’ll even fluff his fucking pillow.”
Laughing, I walked away as my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Pulling it out, I saw a text from Cruz asking if I’d seen the news.
Lately, I hadn’t had time to watch much TV, but for him to be asking me, there must’ve been something of interest to me.
Then came another text with a link to a news clipping.
Tapping it, my eyes narrowed as I read it.
Smirking, I exited the article as I climbed into the back seat of the Rolls. Belvin asked, “Everything good?
“More than good.”
Belvin drove off, nodding, and I reached for the bottle of tequila in the built-in minibar. Pouring up a drink, I gulped it down, then leaned back against the seat with my eyes closed. “That man asked about Princess?” I nodded once. “And you snapped.”
“Don’t,” I warned.
He sighed. “Just saying. It’s a dangerous thing when you start moving off feelings instead of rules.”
“I follow my own fucking rules. You should know this about me by now, Belvin. You’ve been my driver since I was a young nigga.”
He chuckled. “You still a young nigga. Thirty-four ain’t old.” Pulling up to a red light, he glanced back. “I’m just saying… feels like you’re… tipping a little too close to the edge with her.”
I didn’t say shit right away. I just stared out at the tree line, listening to the warm breeze move through the pines. “I ain’t tipping anything,” I finally said. “She’s a piece on the board. That’s it.”
Belvin huffed, driving off. “But the game has ended, so what’s the next play here?” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you protecting her or claiming her?”
Our eyes met for a moment in their rearview mirror. “Why the fuck you keep pressing me about Princess? I said what it is already. I’m done talking about this shit.”
He shrugged, calm as ever. “You know I’d never disrespect you, Nyles. I’ve watched you grow up and become a man in this thing called life, but because I’ve been with you for a long time, I see everything. You don’t get caught up… ever. That’s not you. But right now? You’re in it. Deep.”
I looked out the window, jaw tight as he kept going. “She means something to you,” he said simply. “And you can’t run both an empire and your heart. One of ‘em always gotta bleed.”
I didn’t respond, but in the back of my mind, I knew he might be right. The question was, which one was I willing to let bleed first?