Obligated

JUSTE

A week had passed, and I was posted up in Pops' spot, legs stretched out, talking shit with Noles, Jules, Pierre, and LuLu. LuLu was the face of the legit money, the one who handled the big establishments and kept the heat off us. He ain't like getting his hands dirty, but he knew how to make our businesses look clean. Pops had made the decision to let Maseon live—something I still wasn't too happy about. Instead of wiping his ass off the map, we put him to work, shipping his ass to Houston to move money through our businesses down there. Pops swore the nigga would thrive, said he had a hustler's spirit if he just had the right structure.

I ain't buy all that, but I wasn't about to go against Pops. Today was Maseon's first deposit. We were waiting on him to show up, and I was already itching to see if the nigga would fold. If he decided to run, I was going to find him personally. My phone rang, the screen lighting up with Chiana's name. I smirked, bringing it to my ear. "Wassam baeeby?"

I answered smoothly.

Her voice came through the line, soft, playful. "I miss youuu. “I chuckled. She'd gotten real clingy lately, but I wasn't complaining. Across the room, Jules snorted. "Check this fuck nigga out,"

he said to Noles and Pierre.

I ignored them. "Miss you too. What you got goin'?"

I could hear her moving around, the faint clinking of dishes in the background. "Nothing, just sitting at home. Bored. I cooked."

I grinned. "Yeah? What you make?"

"Just fried some chicken and yellow rice."

"Mm. Look at you, tryna keep a nigga fat."

She laughed. "I mean, you don't seem to be complaining when you clean the plate."

Jules made a fake gagging noise. "Man, hang up the damn phone. Ain't nobody tryna hear you cupcakin'."

I flipped him off, still focused on Chiana. "Is it a late night for you tonight ?"

she asked. "Yeah, probably ,"

I admitted. "mm Okay . Just call me later I guess."

She mumbled before we ended the call . I could hear the shift in Chiana's tone before we ended the call. She ain't say much, but I knew her well enough to catch that little drop in her voice. She didn’t like that I was out late. I rubbed my chin, exhaling slow. I'd call her when I could. She knew what this life was—she just didn’t like when it started creeping into our time.

The door creaked open, and Maseon walked in, a duffel bag in hand. His eyes locked onto mine, and the nigga had the nerve to smirk like he had a death wish. This fuck nigga wanted me to push his shit back. I watched him as he made his way inside, his stride easy, cocky. Like he was testing the waters, seeing how far he could take shit. He dapped up Pierre, nodded at Noles, then turned to me. "Juste, what up? How Ana? ...My bad, Chiana."

That smirk grew. Oh, this nigga was playing with me.

Before I could even think twice, I was on my feet, my Glock pulled, the safety off, barrel aimed dead between his eyes. The room got quiet as fuck. "Fuck nigga, you fuckin' wit me?"

My voice was even, but the rage in my chest was climbing quick. Maseon ain't flinch. "Come on now, Juste,"

he said smoothly, his smirk still sitting there, pissing me the fuck off. I took a step forward, finger resting heavy on the trigger. "Say somethin' else slick."

My voice was low now, lethal. "Go 'head. I dare you."

A chair scraped back. "Aight, aight, aight!"

Pops' voice boomed through the room. His heavy hands clapped against my shoulder as he stepped between us, pushing the gun down. "Ju, get that fuckin' gun from him,"

Pops snapped, his eyes slicing over to Jules, who stood back watching the whole thing unfold with his arms crossed. Jules let out a long breath before reaching for my wrist, pushing my gun down further.

"Aight now,"

Pops continued, his voice sharp as he cut his glare to Maseon. "And you, motherfucka. Quit fuckin' with him and grow the fuck up."

Maseon put his hands up, still too damn smug for his own good. "I was just asking about her. No harm in that, right?"

I jerked forward again, but Jules pressed a hand against my chest. "Nah, let him say one more dumb-ass thing,"

I muttered, my jaw tight. Maseon shrugged. "Damn, can't even ask about old friends no more?"

"Nigga, she ain't your fuckin' friend."

My voice was so cold the temperature in the room damn near dropped. Maseon chuckled like he was trying to brush it off, but I seen the tension in his shoulders.

Pops pinched the bridge of his nose. "I ain't got time for this shit. Is my money in that fuckin' bag?"

Maseon dropped the duffel onto the table. "Yeah. All there."

Pierre and Noles stepped forward, unzipping the bag and thumbing through the stacks of crisp, rubber-banded hundreds. Noles nodded. "It's here."

Pops clapped his hands together once, signaling the end of that bullshit. "Good. Now, get the fuck out. I'll let you know when it's time for the next drop."

Maseon grabbed his shit and dipped.

I was still pissed. Jaw clenched, fists balled up on the table. My trigger finger was still itchin'. The only reason I ain't unload on that nigga was outta respect for Pops. "Juste, sit the fuck down. Shit! Relax!"

Pops exhaled sharply, shaking his head. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to relax. My grip on the gun was too tight, like my body was still ready to react. Finally, I clicked the safety back on and shoved it into my waistband before dropping into a chair.

Pops leaned back, taking a long pull from the blunt tucked behind his ear before lighting it up. He studied me through the smoke, his face hard but tired. "You gon' have to learn how to control that temper,"

he said, exhaling slow. "You can't solve all your problems with that damn gun."

I wasn't trying to hear none of that shit. Jules was grinning. Knew he was about to say something slick before his ass even opened his mouth. "You know that boy head get fuzzy when he in love. He become all about dat pistol play,"

Jules chuckled, shaking his head. Pierre snorted. "Nigga aint got no understanding when it comes to Chiana."

"nobody asked y'all niggas for input,"

I muttered, leaning back in my chair. "You acting like we wrong,"

Noles added, smirking. "You love that girl."

"Ain't that the fuckin' truth,"

Jules said, laughing. Pops exhaled again, tapping ash into a tray. "Love is a weakness in this business, son. But it ain't gotta be a liability if you handle shit right."

I nodded once. I already knew that. What Maseon ain't know was that I wasn't just mad about him running his mouth. I was pissed that he thought he could even speak on Chiana. That was the real problem. "Business is business,"

Pops continued, rubbing his chin. "But you got a blind spot, Juste."

I squinted at him. "What that mean?"

It means,"

Pops said, leaning forward, "I ain't worried about your ability to protect her. I know you will. I'm worried about how far you'll go. You let emotion run shit, you liable to get reckless. And reckless niggas don't last long."

That hit. silence passed. My jaw flexed as I exhaled slow. I felt Jules' stare on me, like he was waiting for me to react. Pierre and Noles stayed quiet, letting Pops talk.

"I ain't gon' tell you how to run your relationship,"

Pops continued. "But you best figure out how to balance this shit. You can't run an empire and let a woman be the thing that make you stupid."

I nodded, rubbing my palms together. "I hear you, Pops."

He studied me for a second longer, then leaned back, taking another pull from his blunt.

I received a text with 911 in a group chat with Jules it was mama. I raised my eyebrow looking across at Jules as he stared back at me . He told pops that we had to go and see about something before we left . I hopped in the truck with him as we drove away from the house.

Jules exhaled sharply as he turned the wheel, his face set in frustration. "Man, I already know this some bullshit. Every damn time she text like that, it's behind some cards, dice, or a table she ain't have no business sittin' at."

I gripped the edge of the seat, rubbing a hand down my face. This shit was not new. Mama had a fucked up gambling habit that had gotten out of control over the years. It wasn't just some weekend casino trip kinda shit—she was deep in it. We'd paid off more debts than I could count, but she always found her way back. And worst of all, she ain't never just owe the Alley. She always owed somebody. The wrong kind of somebody.

"She supposed to be at the Alley?"

I asked, watching the lights of the city flicker as we cut through the streets. "Nah,"

Jules muttered, gripping the wheel tighter. "She at the back room at Luxor's."

I sighed, shaking my head. Fucking figures. Luxor's was a high-stakes, cartel-affiliated gambling spot. Not the kind of place you just walked into to have a good time—you either came to win big, or you left in debt to some very serious motherfuckers.

Jules pulled into a lot behind the club, cutting the engine. I sat there for a second, jaw clenched, rubbing the back of my neck. "You wanna go in first, or you want me to?"

Jules asked, cracking his knuckles. I let out a long breath. "We both goin' in. I ain't lettin' this shit drag out all night."

The club was dark, smoky, and filled with the kinda niggas you didn't wanna owe money to. We walked past security without a check. The St. Jeans didn't run Luxor's, but our name held weight in every high-stakes room in this city. The back room was sectioned off, private, only meant for serious gamblers.

As soon as we stepped inside, I spotted Mama. Sitting at a table, arms crossed, looking mad as hell like she had been cheated. Opposite her was a slick-dressed, gold-toothed motherfucker named Vega. Cartel. Big money. And by the look on his face Mama owed him. Jules let out a short chuckle. "Ain't no way in hell."

I shook my head before stepping forward. "Mama."

She ain't even look at me at first. Then she turned, lips pursed like she was the one pissed off.

"Juste,"

she said. "I need you to handle somethin' for me."

I exhaled slow. Here we go. "Handle what, Ma?"

Vega leaned back, a smug smirk on his face. "She in deep, St. Jean. Sixty large."

I felt my jaw clench. "The fuck you mean sixty?"

Vega spread his hands like he was being reasonable. "She kept doubling down, mi amigo. And she lost. Now? She owe."

I turned my head to Mama. She still had her arms crossed, not a damn ounce of shame on her face. "Sixty, Ma?"

I repeated, voice low. She clicked her tongue. "Boy, don't say it like that. It ain't like I ain't have a chance to win it back."

Jules scoffed beside me. "And yet, here we are."

Vega leaned forward. "Now, I know the St. Jeans good for it. So how you wanna do this? Cash? Or something... else?"

I knew exactly what he meant. If I ain't pay He was taking something in return. And I wasn't about to let that happen. I rolled my shoulders, popping my neck. "I ain't gotta tell you that shit like this ain't a good look, Vega."

He smirked, nodding. "I ain't gotta tell you I don't give a fuck, either."

The room got quiet. Real quiet. Jules shifted next to me, arms crossed over his chest. I pulled out my phone, tapped a few buttons, then slid it across the table.

"Sixty bands. Wired. Now we done."

Vega checked the screen, saw the confirmation, and nodded. "Pleasure doin' business."

I snatched my phone back, turned to Mama, and grabbed her ass up out that chair. "Let's go."

She tried to act offended, but I wasn't having it. I led her straight out the back, Jules right behind me. We drove in silence for a good five minutes before Mama finally decided to speak. "You ain't have to drag me out like that,"

she muttered, arms folded in the passenger seat. Jules gripped the wheel so damn tight my knuckles popped.

"You keep playing like this, Ma. One day, ain't gon' be no payoff. Ain't gon' be no St. Jean name saving your ass. One day? They gon' want something else."

I said. She sighed. "Boy, I'm fine. I got a system—"

"A system?"

Jules cut in, laughing bitterly. "The same system that got you sixty-fucking-thousand in debt to a cartel nigga?"

She rolled her eyes. "Ain't none of y'all ever had a vice?"

"Yeah,"

I muttered. "And I ain't got a damn one that'll get me killed."

Jules nodded. "Facts."

Mama waved us off. "I hear y'all. But that's beside the point, I took 360k out of the shared account I have with your daddy . I got bigger problems ."

Jules whipped into the gas station lot so fast, my whole body jerked forward. The tires screeched loud as hell, heads turning from people pumping gas nearby. I wasn't even worried about them, though—I was too busy trying not to lose my shit. I turned slow, staring at Mama like I hadn't just heard what the fuck she said.

"You did what?"

I asked, voice dangerously low. Mama waved a dismissive hand, like it wasn't damn near a death sentence to touch that account. "I took 360k out of the shared account me and your daddy got. What's the big deal?"

Jules damn near banged his head against the wheel. "Ma,"

he muttered, voice tight. "You outta your damn mind."

"You stole from Pops?"

I asked, just to make sure I heard that shit right. She smacked her lips. "Boy, it ain't stealin' if my name on the account. Ain't like I ain't put money in it before."

Jules turned in his seat, gripping the steering wheel like he wanted to snatch it out. "How much money you put in it, Ma?"

She went quiet. Exactly. I ran a hand down my face, gripping the back of my neck. Pops was gon' lose his entire shit.

"Does he know?"

I asked, voice flat. She huffed. "Not yet."

I turned to Jules. "Bruh, this shit crazy."

Jules shook his head, rubbing his temples. "He gon' know, Ma. That ain't no small amount. You ain't even take 50 bands—360k? He gon' see that missing."

She sighed like we were the ones stressing her out. "I was gon' put it back!"

Jules and I said nothing. Just stared at her. She had the nerve to look offended. "Oh, so y'all think I'm just reckless, huh?"

she snapped, crossing her arms. I barked out a humorless laugh. "Ma, I don't think—you are."

Jules smirked, shaking his head. "You stole from Pops. You owe cartel niggas. And you sittin' here actin' like we overreacting."

She waved her hand again, acting like it was nothing. "Ain't no need to run tellin' him—"

I cut her off, laughing again, but this time it was darker. "Oh, nah, Ma. You tellin' him."

Her face twisted up. "Excuse me?"

Jules leaned back in his seat. "Nah, he right. You tellin' him. We ain't gettin' caught in the middle of this bullshit."

She smacked her teeth, shaking her head. Silence filled the car. She sat there, glaring, like she was debating if she could get out of this. I already knew the answer.

"You tell him,"

I said again, my voice leaving no room for argument. "Or we will."

She rolled her eyes, but I could tell she knew she ain't have a choice. "Fine,"

she muttered. "I'll handle it."

Jules and I shared a look.

_

We pulled up to Jules' spot after dropping mama off, my eyes immediately locking onto Chiana's car parked out front. My eyebrow lifted as he cut the engine. She ain't mention shit about coming over here today. Jules must've peeped my expression because he let out a chuckle, shaking his head as he pushed open his door, smirking as we stepped out the truck. I ignored him. We stepped inside Jules' house, the scent of food and the low hum of female voices filtering in from the backyard. Nia always had a way of making their house feel like a home—something I admired but never really thought about too deep.

As soon as we hit the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of Chiana, Nia, and some other chick out back. Amina. I recognized her from pictures and the way Chiana always cracked up on FaceTime when they talked. That was her ace. Pierre had pulled up after dropping Noles off somewhere . I turned back to the window, watching Chiana throw her head back laughing at whatever Nia and Amina were talking about. She looked good as hell. Her skin was glowing, her braids swinging over her shoulder, that soft ass smile on her face. She was comfortable.

I leaned back against the counter, watching Pierre grab a bottle of Don Julio off the counter like he was about to go out there and make himself real comfortable. "I tell you niggas what,"

he said, twisting the cap off with a smirk. "I'm about to take this bottle outside and watch them kids run around and look at some ass. See what Ms. Lady out there talkin' 'bout."

I chuckled, shaking my head as Jules let out a laugh. "You tryna push up on Amina?"

Jules smirked, shaking his head. "Nigga, they say she got a mouthpiece on her. You ain't ready for that one."

Pierre raised an eyebrow, stepping toward the back door. "Man, listen. A closed mouth don't get fed."

He shot me a look before twisting the bottle in his hand. "And neither do a thirsty nigga. But I'm gon' drink either way."

I shook my head, watching his ass walk outside, sliding right into the circle like he belonged there.

Nia, Chiana, and Amina all turned to look at him. Chiana's eyebrow lifted like she already knew he was on bullshit. Amina, on the other hand, looked Pierre up and down, then shook her head with a smirk. I poured myself a cup of liquor, shaking my head as I stepped outside with Jules. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the backyard, where Nia, Chiana, and Amina were posted up, lounging like they didn't have a care in the world. Pierre was already out there, holding the bottle of Don Julio like it was an invitation to bullshit.

Chiana smiled when she saw me and stood up, meeting me with a kiss. Her lips tasted like tequila. I lifted her sunglasses up, looking her dead in the eyes. She was high and tipsy. She grinned at me, knowing exactly what I was doing. "Don't say anything,"

she giggled. I smirked, pulling her down onto my lap as I sat in her chair. Across from us, Amina, who I hadn't officially met yet, raised an eyebrow, looking me up and down. "So you the famous Juste?"

she mused, her voice laced with amusement.

I smirked. "That depend. What the fuck she been tellin' you?"

Amina laughed, taking a sip of her drink. "That you crazy as hell."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "That's fair."

Pierre leaned in, eyes locked on Amina like she was a full-course meal. "And what they been tellin' you 'bout me?"

Amina barely glanced his way. "That you a headache I ain't got time for."

Jules busted out laughing, damn near spilling his drink.

"How long you been ova' here?"

I mumbled, my lips brushing against Chiana's collarbone as I spoke. She adjusted herself on my lap, her body molding against mine. "Little while,"

she said, looking down at me, smirking like she was up to something. I ran my hand up the side of her thigh, watching her shiver before I looked back at Pierre, who was still locked in on Amina like she was the last shot of Henny at the end of the night. This nigga was really trying it. Amina had her legs crossed, one hand holding her drink while the other scrolled on her phone like Pierre wasn't even worth the data to acknowledge. "So you single-single, or you got a lil' somebody somewhere?"

Pierre asked, his voice smooth, leaning in like he just knew he was about to bag her ass.

Amina took a slow sip, then side-eyed him over the rim of her glass. "If I did, you wouldn't be worth the response."

Nia covered her mouth, stifling a laugh. I shook my head, smirking as Pierre sat back, blinking slow like he was recalculating his next move. "Aight, that's cool,"

Pierre nodded. "So what you saying is, you open to options."

Amina rolled her eyes. "Niggas hear what they wanna hear."

Chiana laughed on my lap, shaking her head. "Pierre, why you doing this to yourself?"

Pierre ignored her, still focused. "Look, I ain't gon' lie, I like a challenge. A woman with a slick-ass mouth? That's my type."

Amina gave him a blank stare. "And what type am I supposed to be?"

Pierre grinned, adjusting his chain like he was about to say something real smooth. "The type that needs a real nigga in her life. Somebody who can handle all that mouth, but still make you feel safe, y'know?"

Amina stared at him for a long moment, lips pursed like she was really thinking it over.

Then she leaned forward, placed her glass on the table, and said real slow, "Niggas love talking about handling a woman with a slick mouth—until they realize she got hands too."

Pierre blinked three times fast, then let out a slow breath. "I mean, if you tryna put your hands on me, we can do that too—long as we do it in private."

The whole backyard lost it. Amina sucked her teeth, shaking her head. "See? Niggas just can't help themselves."

Pierre laughed, rubbing his beard. "I can't help it, baeeby. You fine as hell. You got me over here ready to get on one knee."

Amina picked her glass back up, smirking now. "That's cute. You practice that in the mirror?"

Pierre shook his head. "Nah, this real life. I'm tryin' to be in your life."

Chiana laughed against me, shaking her head. "I don't know, Amina. He really tryna apply pressure."

Amina shrugged, sipping her drink again. "I'll think about it."

Pierre grinned. "That's all I needed to hear."

I smirked, pulling Chiana closer, kissing the side of her neck.