JUSTE
I moved down the stairs slow, my steps measured, my thoughts somewhere else. Upstairs. She was supposed to be just another business move, another play in the empire we'd been building for years. Numbers. That was it. Money needed to be cleaned, books needed to be straightened, and she was the best for the job. But now, she was in my house. And my mind wouldn't let her go. No matter how much I told myself this was business, I knew damn well it wasn't just that.
I'd been watching her for a little while. Not in a reckless way. Not in a way that left loose ends. But in a way that made sure if shit needed to come to this, it was final. I knew everything about her. Knew she didn't have anybody. Knew her routine to the T. She was always alone. No family, no man, nobody. Just her and that quiet, structured little life she built for herself. Get up, go to work, come home. A few nights a week, she'd stop by her favorite seafood spot, order the same thing—blackened catfish, extra lemon on the side. Sundays, she'd go to the lakefront, sit on the bench with a book, soaking up the peace.
She moved like she had nothing to hide. Like the world was fair. Like people played by the rules. But the world wasn't fair. And the rules were made for people like me to break. That's why I knew she was perfect. She wasn't reckless. She wasn't sloppy. She wasn't like other people out here fumbling their own bags. She was precise, disciplined, clean. And that's exactly what we needed.
I ran a hand down my jaw, exhaling as I stepped into the kitchen. The scent of black coffee and smoked sausage filled the space, mixing with the low hum of the ceiling fan. Noles and Pierre were posted up at the marble counter, Pierre scrolling through his phone, Noles halfway through a plate of food. Pierre ended a call, glancing up. "Ju should be pullin' up."
I nodded, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water, twisting the cap off with one hand. Jules was oldest out of the three of us. The one who carried our father's name with pride, with weight. He was the head of this shit, the one that made the final calls. And I already knew this move, he wasn't gonna like it. "You know he ain't gon' be feelin' that shit at all, right?"
Noles said, glancing at me between bites.
I didn't respond. Just took a slow sip of water, letting his words settle. Didn't matter if Jules liked it or not. What was done, was done. Footsteps echoed in the hallway, followed by the deep, familiar voice that always carried authority before he even spoke full sentences. "Feelin' what shit?"
Jules stepped into the kitchen, his presence immediately shifting the energy in the room. He was built like a man who had spent his whole life in control—tall, broad, his skin a shade darker than mine, his sharp features hardened by always being the one everybody answered to.
He was dressed in all black, as usual, his chain resting against his chest, a deep frown already forming as he looked between me and Noles. I set the water bottle down, meeting his gaze. Noles leaned back on his stool, grinning like this wasn't about to be a whole thing. "Remember dat fine ass accountant we been sittin’ on ? Ya brudda kidnapped her ass,"
he said, chuckling. Jules' frown deepened, his eyes cutting to me. "Da fuck did you do, Juste?"
I didn't blink. Didn't look away. "I made a business decision."
Jules stared at me for a long time, then exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "A business decision,"
he repeated. "Da fuck kinda business decision involves kidnappin' somebody?"
Pierre let out a low whistle, rubbing his jaw like he was too entertained. Noles grinned. "Da kinda business decision that got her upstairs right now, lookin' all mad and fine at the same time."
Jules dragged a hand down his face, muttering what the fuck under his breath before pinning me with a look. "Start talkin'. "I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms. "We needed an accountant. One that won't fold, one that got the right skills. She fit."
Jules cocked his head slightly. "And?"
"And she said no."
Jules let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "So instead'a findin' somebody else, you snatched her up like we runnin' a cartel now?"
I didn't say shit. Just held Jules' gaze, letting him see what I wasn't saying. That this wasn't just about business anymore. That this wasn't just about her skills. This was about her. I knew Chiana was fine—I'd been knew that. But seeing her in person that day at her office? That did something to me. I walked in knowing I was about to take something that didn't belong to me, and still, for a split second, I almost forgot why I was there. Her scent hit me first—something soft, sweet, but clean, like she had just stepped out of a fresh shower. She smelled like a woman who took care of herself, who didn't let the world rough her up. Then my eyes dropped to the way her slacks hugged her hips—high, round, sitting just right. The kind of body that wasn't trying to be seen but demanded attention anyway. And that skin... damn. Deep, rich brown skin. Smooth, glowing like she ain't never had a hard day in her life. The kind of skin you wanted to touch, to taste. The kind that made a man think about shit he had no business thinking about. Her hair was done in neat, small long braids that framed her face, pulling attention to her high cheekbones, those full lips, and them sharp-ass eyes that held more fire than I expected.
Chiana was soft, yeah—her life was soft, the way she moved, the way she carried herself. She ain't live in our world. She ain't come from it. But she wasn't weak. She wasn't the type to just fold, to just do what she was told. She had pride, had attitude. I liked that shit more than I should've. I should've walked away. Should've handled this whole thing differently. Should've picked somebody else—somebody who didn't make me think, who didn't make me feel shit. But I fucked up. I'd been watching her for too long, and over time, she grew on me. More than I wanted to admit. More than I was willing to say out loud.
Jules sighed, shaking his head again. "You feelin' her, huh?"
Noles barked out a laugh. "Hell yeah, he feelin' her! He don' carried her up them stairs like she was some lil thing, locked her up, and now he standin' here actin' like it's just about the books."
Pierre smirked . "she put up a fight. Whooped that nigga ass fa sho"
"She did,"
I admitted, the memory flashing in my mind—her smart ass mouth, the way she refused to back down even when she should have. Jules sighed again, pacing the length of the kitchen before stopping in front of me. "Look, I get it,"
he said, his tone quieter, more serious. "She's bad, she's smart, and she got that mouth on her that make a man wanna put some in it . You like her"
I clenched my jaw. "But you know we don't move like this,"
he continued. "We ain't sloppy, and this? This is sloppy."
"She won't talk,"
I said, my voice steady. Jules studied me. "You sure about that?"
I thought of her upstairs, the way she stood firm, the way she looked me dead in my eye and told me she wasn't signing that contract. She wasn't weak. She wasn't stupid. And she damn sure wasn't the type to go down easy. I pushed off the counter, my eyes never leaving Jules'. "She'll come around."
Jules exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Man..."
Pierre smirked. "Or she'll kill your ass in your sleep."
I grinned, the thought almost amusing. "She wouldn't be the first to try."
Jules sighed, rubbing his hand down his face, already looking like he had a headache. "Keep this shit under control, Juste."
His voice was low, firm—big brother shit, but not soft. He didn't do soft. Not with us. Not in this life. "And Noles, keep this outta Mama and Pops' ear. Know you like to run your mouth lika' hoe."
Noles scoffed. "Man, whatever, nigga. I know when to shut the fuck up."
Jules wasn't convinced, but he let it ride. I wasn't worried about Noles. I was worried about Pops. If he found out about this, Yeah, he'd lose his shit. Not just 'cause I took a woman against her will, but 'cause it was messy. And if there was one thing Saint St. Jean didn't tolerate, it was mess. We were his sons, carrying his legacy, running the empire he built from the dirt up. And he expected us to move with the same precision, the same control, the same ruthlessness that made him feared across the South.
Yet... here I was. Moving reckless over a woman. One I was supposed to be using as a piece in our business. One I couldn't get out of my head. Jules shook his head like he already knew how this was about to play out. He sighed, glancing at the time. "I gotta get back and help Nia get the kids ready for school,"
he muttered, pushing off the counter. “I hope you can make her fall in love with your ass. If not, you know shit gon' get ugly."
His words carried weight. Not just the threat behind them, but the truth. Because he was right. If I couldn't make Chiana want this... want me... then I was setting myself up for a different kind of war. I didn't respond, just nodded as Jules walked out, already pulling his keys from his pocket.
Jules had his shit together. He'd been with Nia since they were kids—middle school sweethearts turned husband and wife, now with three kids of their own. Two boys, one girl. He built a family for himself. Something solid. Something untouchable. And I respected that. Hell... I strived to have that. But I wasn't the settling down type. Not because I didn't want to be, but because this life? Our life? It didn't let men like me have that shit. It gave us power, money, and fear. But love? Love was a weakness. And I wasn't weak. At least... that's what I kept telling myself.
=
By the time the sun started creeping over the horizon, the house had settled into silence. Noles and Pierre had dipped out, leaving me alone with my thoughts. And her. I moved upstairs, my footsteps slow and steady as I reached the locked door. I slid the key into the knob, twisting it until the lock clicked. The door creaked open, and the first thing I saw was her. Chiana was sprawled out across the bed, her deep brown skin glowing under the dim light creeping in from the window. She was still mad as hell, though. Even in her sleep, a frown was etched into her face, her lips slightly parted like she was in the middle of an argument in her dreams.
I smirked. She was stubborn as hell. And still fine as fuck. I leaned back against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest, just watching her. The way her braids were messy now, strands slipping loose from how much she'd been tossing and turning. The way her thick thighs peeked out from under the white sheets, her body soft, inviting, untouched by the kind of world I lived in.
She looked peaceful like this. But I knew the second she woke up, that fire was gon be right back in her eyes. And for some fucked-up reason... I liked that shit.
I had been with plenty of women—women who knew who I was, what I was about, and fell in line without me having to say much. But Chiana? She wasn't bending. Wasn't breaking. I ran a hand down my jaw, exhaling slow. I told myself this was business again. I stood there, staring at her, letting my mind wander in ways it shouldn't.
I pushed off the wall, glancing at her one last time. She was still deep in sleep, her face relaxed despite the frown that had settled there. I smirked. With a quiet exhale, I stepped out of the room, pulling the door shut behind me before locking it. The heavy click of the lock echoed in the quiet hallway, a reminder that—for now—she wasn't going anywhere.
I made my way down the long corridor, the house still and dark, the only sound my footsteps against the hardwood floors. My room was at the opposite end of the hall, bigger, darker. Black satin sheets stretched across the bed, the faint scent of my cologne still lingering in the air. I pulled off my shirt, tossing it aside before stepping into the bathroom. The water was scorching hot, steam rising thick as I stood under the stream, letting it roll over my shoulders, down my back. I tilted my head forward, hands braced against the tile, but my mind wouldn't shut off.
I knew I'd only get about three hours of sleep before I had to be back at it. Between Chiana and the real reason I brought her here, sleep wasn't coming easy. Outside of my thoughts about her, the weight of the money had been pressing heavy on me. Three months. Three months of money moving in fast—too fast. We had more cash than we knew what to do with, stacked in different locations, wrapped in plastic, locked in vaults. And while we'd been careful as hell about where we moved it, it was getting too big, too messy. We needed it cleaned. Fast. That was why Chiana was needed here. I exhaled sharply, cutting the water off and stepping out, grabbing a towel and dragging it over my skin. My body was exhausted, my muscles tight, but my mind was still running.
—
I woke up around 10 AM, stretching lazily in bed before rolling onto my side, rubbing a hand over my face. The house was quiet, the type of quiet that settled when things were still—too still. And I already knew the reason for that was sitting, probably still pissed the hell off.
I smirked to myself as I got up, dressing down in black Levi's and a fitted black tee. The air was thick with Louisiana humidity even this early in the morning, the sun cutting through the heavy clouds outside. I grabbed my keys, knowing I wasn't about to deal with her mouth first thing on an empty stomach. Sammie's Deli was calling. The drive was smooth, the streets already alive with the usual morning hustle—old heads gathered outside the corner store talking shit, kids running up and down the sidewalks, music blasting from car speakers at the red lights.
I pulled up to Sammie's and walked inside, the bell overhead chiming as the smell of fried shrimp, buttered biscuits, and strong-ass coffee filled the air. Sammie glanced up from behind the counter, smirking when he saw me. "Damn, boy. Ya out early. Who ya feedin'?"
I just chuckled, shaking my head. "Let me get two shrimp n grits plates. Extra toast."
Sammie let out a low whistle. "Two plates, huh? Yeah, ya definitely feedin' a woman."
I ignored him, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge while he bagged up my order. A few minutes later, I was back on the road, the scent of fresh breakfast filling the truck.
I got back to the house and set everything out on the kitchen table—two plates, two sets of utensils , extra napkins, and beside them, her phone and laptop, both fully charged. I didn't want her to think she was a damn prisoner. I made my way upstairs, unlocking the door to her room, stepping inside just as I heard the water shut off in the bathroom.
Then she walked out. Damp, glowing, skin still dewy from the steam, wrapped in a fluffy white towel that clung to her body. I stopped in my tracks, my eyes dragging over her before I could even think about stopping myself. Damn. She frowned the second she saw me, but she ain't say shit—just went straight to moving around the room, flipping through the two duffel bags of clothes Noles and Pierre had grabbed for her.
I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching her. She sighed in frustration before finally pulling out a navy blue track suit, her expression tight, her lips pressed together like she was holding in everything she wanted to say. "You need something?"
she finally asked, looking up at me with narrowed eyes. "I need to get dressed."
I chuckled, dragging my gaze over her again. "You still got that funky ass attitude, I see,"
I muttered, smirking as my eyes lingered just a little too long. That towel was hugging her body perfectly, molding to the curve of her hips, her full thighs, the soft dip of her waist.
She lifted a brow. "You kidnapped me."
Her tone was flat, but the way she crossed her arms over her chest let me know she was still heated. I tilted my head, watching her. "I like to call it a business decision."
She scoffed, grabbing her clothes and turning toward the bathroom. But as she moved, something slipped from the pile in her arms—small, delicate. Black silk thongs hit the floor. I stepped forward before she even noticed, bending down and grabbing them between my fingers. She kept moving, mumbling under her breath. "Business decision my ass."
She fumbled through her clothes in the bathroom. I smirked. "You looking for these?"
She froze for half a second, then turned, her eyes locking onto the fabric dangling from my fingers. Her lips pressed into a tight line before she let out a sharp exhale, stepping forward and snatching them from my grip. I chuckled low, shaking my head. "Relax. Ain't like I ain't seen—"
"Shut up,"
she muttered, rolling her eyes before slamming the bathroom door in my face. I laughed, the sound deep, full, carrying through the thick wooden door like I knew it was getting under her skin. If she thought that attitude was gonna make me change my mind, she had another thing coming.
I leaned in just a little, my palm flat against the doorframe, my voice smooth, low, just enough to let her know I meant what I said next. "Meet me downstairs when you finished,"
I murmured. "Don't keep me waitin', Baeeby . I'm not a patient man."
I could almost feel her reaction on the other side—her irritation, her frustration, the way she was probably rolling those pretty ass brown eyes of hers. I smirked and pushed off the door, turning on my heel before heading back downstairs.
The scent of shrimp and grits still filled the kitchen, steam curling up from the plates on the table. I moved toward the counter, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water, twisting the cap off as I leaned back against the marble. I wasn't used to waiting on anybody. People came when I called. They moved when I told them to. They fell in line, no questions asked. But Chiana was making me wait. Intentionally
I knew what she was doing—dragging this shit out on purpose, probably sitting in that bathroom debating how much of a fight she wanted to put up today. I smirked to myself, taking another sip of water. She could take her time all she wanted. She still had to come downstairs. And when she did? She was gon' sit across from me and eat the breakfast I went and got for her. She was gon' listen to what I had to say. And, eventually, she was gonna accept that this was her new reality.
Another five minutes passed before I heard her footsteps coming down the stairs. Slow. Deliberate. When she walked into the kitchen, she didn't look at me at first. Just pulled out the chair across from me and sat down, adjusting the navy-blue track suit she picked out. She moved like she wasn't locked in my house. Like she was still holding onto some form of control. I let her have that—for now.
I leaned back in my chair, watching her as she picked up her fork and grabbed the salt, steam rising up from her plate. She was beautiful. I had already known that, but seeing her now, with the sunlight spilling in through the windows, hitting her skin just right, making her glow—damn. Perfectly arched eyebrows. Big, expressive brown eyes, the kind that spoke before she did. Soft, full lips that I knew were just as sharp as they were pretty. She was a problem. A fine-ass, stubborn-ass problem.
I picked up my fork, finally digging into my own food, but my eyes never left her. She wasn't in a rush to eat, cutting small pieces, moving slow, like she was trying to ignore me. I smirked. "You aight ?"
Her eyes flicked up to mine for half a second before shifting—toward the phone and laptop I sat next to her plate. Then she lifted an eyebrow, her expression flat. "You giving me my stuff ?"
"You'll need it for work,"
I said casually, taking another bite. Her jaw tightened, but she didn't respond. I wiped my mouth with a napkin before dropping the next bomb. "Oh yeah, I let Amina know you were in good hands and would be out the way for a while."
Her whole body went still. Then, slow as hell, she placed her fork down, her gaze locking onto mine with something sharp. "You what?"
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, my smirk deepening. "Told her you were good. That you'd be occupied for a little while."
Her nostrils flared. "You talked to Amina?"
"More like texted,"
I corrected, my tone easy. "Didn't want her worryin', blowin' up your phone, makin' this more complicated than it needed to be."
She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms, her jaw tight. "You had no right. Who the fuck do you think you are ?"
I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. "Juste St. Jean. And See, that's where we disagree."
Her eyes blazed, lips parting like she had more to say, but I cut her off before she could get started. "Eat,"
I murmured, my voice dropping lower, more serious. "Your food is gettin' cold."
She stared at me, lips pressed tight, her breathing slow and controlled. She wanted to argue. Wanted to throw that sharp-ass mouth at me. But she knew better than to push too far. So, after another tense minute, she picked up her fork and took another bite. I just sat there, watching her.
I set my fork down, lacing my fingers together as I studied her. She was still sitting across from me with that stubborn-ass look on her face like she had a say in what was happening. She didn't. "I need you to let all your personal clients know you'll be on vacation for the next month."
My voice was calm, smooth, but full of authority. "I need your focus on this."
I leaned back in my chair, dragging my gaze over her, waiting for the reaction I knew was coming.
Chiana froze mid-bite, her fork hovering over her plate. She didn't look up at me right away, like she needed a second to process what I just said. I smirked to myself. She heard me. She was just trying to decide how she wanted to react. She finally set her fork down with a soft clink, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and sat back in her chair. Crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head slightly. That attitude was coming. "What the hell do you mean ? And after that?"
Her tone was sharp, like she was testing me.
I smirked. There she go. "Afta' a month, you can start back up,"
I said, my voice steady, unwavering. "But workin' from the house."
That's when I saw it—the moment the fire in her eyes flared up, the moment she realized she wasn't just caught up in this temporarily. She wasn't going back to her old life. Not in the way she thought.
Her arms tightened over her chest, her back pressing against the chair like she was bracing herself. "When can I go home ? "
I exhaled slowly, dragging my tongue over my teeth. Then I stood up. Slow. Deliberate. She tensed, her body going rigid as I walked around the table, the weight of my presence filling the space between us. She tried to play it cool, but I saw it—the way her breath caught in her throat, the way her fingers curled just a little tighter around her arms.
I stopped beside her chair, looking down at her, my voice low, controlled. "You can't "
I murmured, "This is home. "
She inhaled sharply but kept her face neutral. I smirked, tilting my head slightly. "I told you,"
I continued, reaching down, gripping the arm of her chair, leaning just a little closer, "We doin this my way now . "
Her jaw clenched, her brown eyes locked on mine. I saw the fight in her. Felt it in the tension rolling off her body. She wanted to argue. Wanted to swing on me, curse me out, something. I leaned in just enough for my breath to brush against her ear. "I own you now, Chiana."
My voice was deep, slow, lethal. "Ain't shit movin' without my say-so. The quicker you get that shit through ya head , the smoother this shit will go."
She sucked in a breath, but she ain't move, ain't blink, just sat there, gripping onto that last little piece of control like it meant something. "Disrespectfully , Fuck you ."
She said crossing her arms over her chest . I chuckled . "Grab your shit let me show you to the office . I need to be outta here in a lil bit ."