Obligated

JUSTE

The machines beeped, a steady, rhythmic sound that damn near drove me insane. The oxygen hissed, flowing through the tubes, keeping her breathing. I sat at the side of her bed, my elbows resting on my knees, hands clasped together, staring at her still body. Three days. Three fuckin' days. On top of the injuries from the crash, that fuck nigga Maseon shot my baby twice. Twice. They'd put her in a medically induced coma, hoping her condition would improve. But every hour that passed without her waking up, my patience thinned, my rage grew. I ain't never felt this helpless in my fuckin' life. Her face was bruised up and it was eating at me.

The door creaked open, and I barely looked up. Amina stepped in, her heels clicking softly against the floor, fresh off a flight. If I wasn't at Chiana's bedside, she was. She let out a small sigh before speaking. "P said Your people want you at the house."

I stayed sitting for a second, staring at Chiana, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. Then, slowly, I stood, leaning over her, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I love you, baeeby. Stay with me. I'll be back."

I squeezed Chiana's hand, lingering for just a second longer before pulling away.

Leaving her at that hospital felt wrong, but I knew one thing—if I didn’t handle this, she wouldn't be safe. None of us would be. I pulled onto the road, my jaw locked tight, my mind replaying the events over and over again like a movie reel I couldn't turn off. When everything finally came out, it was worse than I thought. Maseon had been working both sides, playing my pops like a fool for my uncle Abel's ass. And the nigga that called the hit on me and Chiana was My own fuckin' blood. Uncle Abel. The weight of that realization sat on me like a boulder. A nigga I grew up calling family wanted me dead. And for what? Power? Territory? Ego?

I'd done what everybody begged me to do. I sat at Chiana's bedside. I played the grieving man, waiting, letting my brothers and my father do what they do best. But I also told them niggas, they had 72 hours to handle this shit. If they didn't, I was gon' burn all this shit to the ground. I wasn't thinking straight. Didn't give a fuck about the consequences. Chiana was my soft spot, my heart, and they had touched that not even knowing what they did. So now, I was gon' touch everything they loved.

When I pulled up to the family house, the tension was thick as hell. Pops, Jules, Noles, and Pierre were already there. Waiting. Pops sat at the head of the table, smoking a cigar, his face unreadable. Jules was leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression dark as hell. Pierre was sitting on the counter, gun in his lap, tapping his fingers against his knee, his leg bouncing. Noles had his head down, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he was tryna keep his temper in check. And then there was me. A walking grenade, pin already pulled.

Pops exhaled a slow puff of smoke, watching me closely, like he was waiting to see if I'd explode. "Any update on Chiana?"

he finally asked. I looked at him, eyes still burning with the kind of fury that ain't got no expiration date. "Any update on Maseon and Abel ass?"

I shot back, pulling out a chair and sitting at the table, my hands moving methodically as I started rolling up a blunt. Silence stretched across the room. Everybody was watching me, waiting. Because they knew. You could see it in my eyes. This wasn't just anger. This was calculated vengeance, sitting just under my skin, waiting for the right moment to detonate.

Pops let out a slow sigh, setting his cigar down. "Juste, I know you pissed off. We pissed off too, but we got too much shit goin' on to rush hot-headed into a war we ain't ready for. Plus, this shit with the cartel—"

I cut him off so quick the air in the room got thick. "That shit dealin' with the cartel is between you and Mama's gamblin' ass. My bitch is literally in the hospital, half-dead off some shit that got everything to do with you and ya wicked-ass brother."

I flicked the lighter, the flame flaring up as I lit the blunt. "I ain't tryna hear none of that shit. And you know that."

The tension in the room shifted. Jules, leaned back in his seat, staring at me hard, while Noles and Pierre sat silent, both of them watching Pops, waiting to see how he played this. Pops picked up his glass, swirling the liquor inside. "You really think we just sitting on our hands, huh?"

I took a slow pull from my blunt, exhaling the smoke through my nose. "That's exactly what the fuck it look like."

Pierre chuckled lowly. "I mean, the nigga ain't wrong."

Pops cut his eyes over at him before turning his attention back to me. "Abel ain't walking away from this. That's already been decided."

His voice was calm, but there was something behind it. Some finality.

Jules finally spoke. "We put the word out. Nigga's on borrowed time."

I tapped ash off the blunt, my voice flat. "That's not good enough."

Pops sighed, rubbing his forehead like he was already tired of my shit. "You just wanna rush in, guns blazin', huh?"

I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table, my voice cold, steady, final. "Nah. Ima start with that bitch Tianita—the one Abel got them two kids with that he think don't nobody know about."

I took a slow pull from the blunt, the tip burning bright as I inhaled deep, letting the smoke settle in my chest before exhaling.

Jules and Pierre both stopped mid-sip, eyes cutting over to me. They knew what the fuck that meant. Noles smirked, shaking his head. "Oh, this nigga talkin' 'bout scorched earth. I'm wit' whatever you wit'."

I tapped ash off the blunt, my jaw flexing. "Jules, call that hoe Jade. If I gotta find her my damn self, I'm pushin' her shit back. They said she was the last bitch fuckin' with Maseon."

Jules frowned, his expression shifting like he had something to say but didn't know how to say it. "Fuck you mean fuckin' Maseon?"

His voice had an edge to it, something unreadable, like he cared a little too much.

Noles scoffed, shaking his head as he lit the blunt tucked behind his ear. "Jules, kill that defensive shit like that's your bitch or some'."

He exhaled a cloud of smoke, his eyes cutting over to Jules with nothing but amusement. "That hoe just blew up your life—you ought to want her ass dead. Find the bitch like he said."

Pierre chuckled low, shaking his head. "Man, this nigga Noles talkin' reckless as hell to bro."

Jules shot him a glare. "Man, fuck y'all."

I leaned forward, my tone even but firm. "You sittin' over there gettin' your feelings in it instead of pickin' up the phone. That bitch is a liability. And she got answers. So unless you plannin' on protectin' her?"

I raised a brow, daring him to say some dumb shit. Jules let out a breath, his jaw working before he finally nodded his head. I pushed back from the table, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor. Pierre and Noles followed suit, their expressions mirroring my own—cold, calculated, ready to slide. "I got somewhere I need to be,"

I muttered to Pops, adjusting the gun at my waist. "Tell Mama I love her."

Pops didn't say nothing at first, just studied me with those same eyes that had seen more blood and betrayal than I ever could. Then, he exhaled slow, nodding. Jules sat up straighter, looking between me and the others. "Fuck y'all niggas goin'?"

His tone was tight, like he already knew but needed confirmation anyway. Noles scoffed, shaking his head as he shoved past Jules' chair. "Nigga, you worry about findin' that bitch. That's what you worry about."

Pierre chuckled low, running his palm over his chin. "Priorities, my boy."

Jules' jaw flexed. "Man, fuck y'all."

I smirked but didn't bother responding. Instead, I pushed open the front door and stepped into the night air. The wind had that late-season chill to it, biting at my skin, but I barely felt it.

Three Days Later

The last three days, I'd been on a fuckin' warpath. Spinnin' through the city, shooting up spots, touching everything Abel loved. I ain't slept. Ain't ate. Barely even thought straight. I was runnin' on rage and revenge, and I wasn't stoppin' until that nigga felt me.

Abel thought he could touch mine and walk away untouched? Like I wasn't gon' show him what that felt like? Nah. I was gon' touch his heart. I was gon' make him regret every decision that led him to put a hit on me and Chiana.

The black truck cut through the late-night streets, windows down just enough for the breeze to slap me in the face, keep me alert. Noles was in the passenger seat, Pierre in the back, both just as locked in as me. "You look like you runnin' on fumes, Jus,"

Noles muttered, rolling up, his lighter flicking in the dark. "You ain't ate, you ain't slept. This shit gon' get sloppy if you don't cool your ass down."

I ain't respond. Just kept my grip tight on the wheel, my eyes scanning the road like a predator looking for his next kill. Pierre shifted in the back. "Nigga talkin' like we ain't already been sloppy. We been spinnin' three days straight, Juste ain't care 'bout that before."

"And I still don't,"

I gritted out, cutting the wheel hard down a side street. The spot we were headed to sat low on the block—one of Abel's old gambling houses. A nice little hole-in-the-wall where he washed money and kept his little goons comfy. "What's the play?"

Pierre asked, loading his clip. "Same as the last,"

I muttered. "In and out. We send a message."

"How loud we sendin' it?"

Noles asked, a slow smirk creeping across his face. I smirked back, finally feeling something other than rage for the first time in days. "Loud enough to wake a dead nigga up."

We moved like shadows, sliding out the car, weapons drawn. The night air was thick, humid, but I barely noticed. My heart beat steady, fingers locked around the cold metal of my gun. The front door to the gambling house was unlocked—dumb move. We kicked it open, and the second I stepped inside, the room exploded into chaos. "Shit, Jus—!"

I ain't let the nigga get the words out before I shot him dead in the chest. A couple others reached for they pieces, but Pierre and Noles let off before they could. Blood. Screaming. The smell of gunpowder in the air.

I found the man I was looking for—a nigga named Freddy, Abel's right hand. He was already trying to crawl toward the back exit. I took my time walking up to him, stepping over bodies like I had all the time in the world. "You know who I am, right?"

Freddy gasped, his hand pressing against his bleeding stomach. "Jus— Juste, man, c'mon—"

I shot him in the knee. "I ain't come here to hear you beg."

He screamed, clutching his leg. "You work for Abel,"

I said coolly, crouching next to him. "That mean you know where the fuck he at. So go head, tell me where to find that nigga, and maybe, just maybe, I'll let you breathe a lil' longer."

He shook his head fast, eyes wide, terrified. "Man, I— I don't know where he at, Jus! I swear to God—"

I shot the other knee. He howled, the sound ripping through the room. "You gon' think twice before you lie to me again?"

I asked, tilting my head.

"Aight, aight, aight!"

he panted, blood pooling under him. "Last I heard—last I heard, he was layin' low at some spot near the docks! I swear, Jus, that's all I know!"

I studied him for a second. Then I stood, nodded at Pierre. Pierre ain't hesitate—he put one right in Freddy's head. I exhaled slow, rolling my shoulders back. "Let's go."

The truck was quiet, but the energy inside it was thick. Tense. I kept my hands tight on the steering wheel, my knuckles turning damn near white from how hard I was gripping it. The streets blurred past us, but all I could see was red—Abel's blood, Maseon's blood, every nigga who had a hand in touching what was mine. "We almost there,"

Pierre muttered from the back, breaking the silence. He was reloading, checking his clips, the metallic clicks blending in with the sound of the truck rolling down the dark streets. Then, Noles spoke. "Jus, when the last time you been to check on Chiana?"

I didn’t answer. My grip on the wheel tightened instead. Noles exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face like he was tryna figure out how to get through to me. "I already know what you 'bout to say,"

he continued. "You ain't goin' back till this shit handled, right?"

Still, I ain't respond. "Nigga, you wildin',"

he muttered. "You out here movin' reckless like slidin' gon wake Chiana up any faster."

That struck a nerve. My jaw flexed, my teeth grinding together as I turned onto a back road, heading toward the condo where Jules had Jade holed up. "You think I don't know that?"

I finally snapped, my voice low, rough. "You think I don't hear them machines beepin' every time I blink? Think I don't see her laid up in that hospital bed, half-dead 'cause of me? My nigga I don’t know how to do that shit, I don’t know how to see her laid up like that fucked up."

The truck fell silent again. Pierre let out a low sigh from the back. "We ain't sayin' don't go at these niggas, Jus,"

he said. "We just sayin'—she need you too."

I clenched my jaw, breathing hard through my nose, but I ain't respond. I knew she needed me. I just needed to handle this shit first. I pulled the truck up in front of the condo, cutting the engine. Jules had been holdin' Jade here since we got her location, waiting on me to come get what I needed out of her. I was eager. Eager to get to her, eager to get to Maseon. Pierre and Noles hopped out, moving quick toward the door. I followed, my mind already made up. Jade was gon' talk.

_

Jade talked, just not about that nigga Maseon. She swear that nigga had skipped town. She gave up something better. She confirmed where Abel was. We pulled up to a grimy-ass warehouse that sat off to itself along the docks—quiet, isolated, surrounded by rusted shipping containers and shadows. The type of place you ain't meant to walk out of. My pulse was calm, focused. All I could hear was the low hum of the engine as Noles killed the lights. Pierre hopped out first, hand on his pistol. I followed, jaw tight, fists clenched.

"Juste, keep your composure,"

Pops warned from behind me, voice low but firm. It went in one ear and straight the fuck out the other. I kicked the door in, metal slamming against the wall like a gunshot. We moved in like smoke, weapons raised. Abel turned around mid-convo, face caught somewhere between fear and fury. He stood behind a table stacked with duffle bags full of cash and dope. His two guards reached for heat, but Noles and Pierre had 'em on the ground before they could blink.

"Nephew,"

Abel said with that snake-ass smile, hands raised slightly, like we was family again. Like he ain't order the hit that left Chiana bleeding in my arms. "Nigga fuck you ,"

I growled, stepping forward, gun aimed dead center between his eyes. His eyes flicked to Pops as he stepped in behind me. "Saint, you really lettin' your boy point a gun at his uncle?"

Pops just lit a cigarette and looked off like he didn't even know the man.

"You crossed a line,"

I said. "You sent niggas after me and mine. You think I'm here for a conversation?"

Abel laughed—cold, bitter. "That little girl put you in your feelings, huh? Look at you now. Soft. You always have been Tender bout a bitch. Then again Masson said she had a snapper on ha."

That was it. I pistol-whipped his ass across the jaw, sending him stumbling back. Blood spilled from his mouth, but he was still smirking. Still trying to act like he held some power here.

"You gon' die slow,"

I told him. "Because what you did, That shit don't get forgiven. Not by me."

Pierre stepped in, tying Abel's hands with a zip tie before shoving him into a chair. The room was tense, thick with silence and rage. "This gon' be the last time you ever cross a St. Jean,"

I said. "We takin' everything you ever built... and burnin' that shit down."

Abel looked at Pierre coldly. "I guess you found out this nigga is ya daddy."

He chuckled like it was funny. Pierre didn't speak. Just stared. Jaw locked. His chest rising slow but hard. "Nigga fuck that,"

I snapped, voice hard as steel, pulling the lighter from my pocket. I lit the blunt that had been tucked behind my ear and took a slow drag, smoke swirling around my face. My eyes never left Abel. "Where that hoe-ass nigga Maseon at?"

Abel leaned back against the table, arms folded across his chest like this was some kind of casual conversation "He gone. Out the way by now,"

he said, cocky, voice smooth. "Nigga had his own plays, wasn't on my payroll like y'all keep thinkin'."

I laughed once. Real low. Real bitter. "You really think I give a fuck about your excuses? You called that hit, Abel. Niggas done died. My girl damn near gone. And you sittin' here actin' like you untouchable."

He shrugged, pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, and lit it. "I didn't tell him to shoot her. That was personal."

That did it.

In one motion I pulled my gun from my waistband again and leveled it at him. "Nigga, every fuckin' move you made been personal. You crossed that line the moment you let that nigga breathe in our city."

"Juste!"

Pops barked behind me, but I didn't budge. "Let me handle this,"

I said, still staring Abel down. "I ain't tryna talk no more."

Pierre stepped forward, slow. Quiet. His eyes still on Abel. "Why you ain't tell me?"

he asked, voice tight, hoarse even. Abel looked at him with something like guilt, but he masked it quick. "Would it have changed shit? You still would've been a St. Jean. That's what your mama wanted."

Pierre didn't respond. He just nodded once. Real slow. That silence that followed was deadly.

"So what's it gon be, Juste?"

Abel asked, arms still crossed. "You gon shoot your own blood?"

I took one last pull from my blunt, then flicked it to the floor. "Nah, nigga... I'm gon end the war before it spreads any further."

"Juste, Don't pull that trigger ."

Pops said stepping forward . I raised my eyebrow . I didn't give a fuck that this nigga was blood . "Pops I told you . I'd burn all this shit down bout her if I had to."

I said before firing sending a bullet between Abel's eyes . His body slumped forward, crashing into the table, knocking stacks of dirty money to the floor. The room echoed with silence. Pops didn't move. Just stood there frozen, jaw tight, staring at the man he grew up with bleeding out on concrete. Noles and Pierre were stone still behind me, eyes locked on Abel's body.

I exhaled slowly, smoke from my blunt curling from my lips like steam off boiling rage. I let the silence sit. Let the weight of what I did settle in the room like fog. Then I tucked my gun back in my waistband. "Clean it up,"

I said flatly, nodding to Pierre and Noles. My voice was calm. Too calm. "We ain't got time to leave trails. Put him in the water."

Pops finally found his voice, dragging a heavy hand down his face. "You know this shit gon have to be a discussion amongst all the family?"

I turned slowly, letting the silence stretch just enough before my voice cut through it like a blade. "At this point? Fuck the family."

I looked Pops dead in his eyes, my tone calm—too calm. "I'll kill everybody."

Pierre and Noles froze behind me, hands mid-motion as they wrapped Abel's body. Jules stopped cleaning the table, his eyes flicking to Pops to see how he was gonna react. But Pops didn't say a word. His lips parted slightly, but he didn't respond. Because he knew.

Deep down, he knew that bullet was long overdue. Abel had crossed too many lines. Betrayed too much blood. And most of all, he'd put his hands—indirectly or not—on my woman. That alone meant death. Pops sat down slowly in one of the metal chairs, rubbing his temples like the weight of the whole empire had just fallen on his back. I didn't pity him. "You get the fuck outta here, nigga,"

Jules muttered, grabbing a fresh pair of gloves. "We got this. Go see about your girl."

I stared at him for a minute, then nodded once.

He was right. I hadn't been to the hospital in days. Not since I found out who was behind it. I told myself I couldn't look at Chiana laid up like that without losing control. Told myself she was safer with me outside hunting the niggas who tried to bury her. But the truth? The truth was, I was scared. Scared to see her hooked up to them machines. Scared she wouldn't wake up. But now, I had no more excuses.

I pushed the door open and stepped into the cool night, my shoes echoing down the alley as I made my way back to the truck. I drove in silence, the only sound in the truck was the low rumble of the engine and the occasional pop of gravel beneath my tires. Streetlights passed like ghosts. My hands clenched the wheel tighter the closer I got to the hospital, jaw tight, stomach knotted . When I pulled into the hospital lot, I sat there for a second, engine idling. My eyes were trained on the front entrance, but my mind was back at that night. The wreck. The gunshots. The blood on my hands. Her hand limp in mine.

I blinked and shut the truck off, stepping out into the dark. The automatic doors slid open as I walked in, nodding at the overnight nurse behind the desk. She looked up, recognizing me on sight. "Hi,"

she said softly. I didn't respond. Just gave a short nod and made my way down the corridor, the soles of my shoes echoing against the tile. When I pushed her room door open, that familiar sterile scent hit me first—antiseptic. The machines were still beeping. Slow and steady. Her body was still, a tangle of IVs, wires, and blankets.

I walked over, pulling the chair close again and lowering myself into it. Her hand was smaller than I remembered. Or maybe it was just colder. I stared at her face. Even bruised and swollen, she looked beautiful. She looked like mine. "I handled it,"

I muttered, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. "Abel gone. Pops might not say it out loud, but he knew it had to be done. That's done now. All I want now is you. I'll hunt Maseon down to the death of me."

I leaned closer, dropping my forehead against her hand.

My thoughts flashed back to me standing over Abel in that warehouse, it wasn’t rage that had me shaking. It was everything before the rage. It was that flash of Chiana jerking in my arms, choking on her own breath. That quiet whimper she let out when her blood soaked through my shirt. I shot Abel because he made that happen. I shot him because I saw Chiana’s blood on his hands. I shot him because I was powerless to stop what had already been done. And deep down, no amount of bodies would make that shit right.

"I'm right here, Chi. You gotta wake up now. You made me love you, now you gotta stay so I don't lose my mind."

The room stayed quiet, but I stayed right there. Waitin'. Hopin'. And prayin' to a God I stopped speakin' to years ago that the next time her eyes opened, they'd find me.