AMAI #2
“Good. Because if Victor senses weakness, he’ll exploit it. And I’m not losing more money because you can’t keep your head in the game.”
I didn’t respond. There was no point.
Winston didn’t understand what I was fighting for. He never had.
We drove in silence until we reached the safe house where Kaisen and Priest were waiting.
The room smelled like gun oil and cigarette smoke.
Kaisen sat at the table, cleaning a Glock with methodical precision. Priest leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression grim.
“About time,” Kaisen muttered, not looking up.
“We’ve got an hour,” I said, closing the door behind us. “Let’s go over this one more time.”
Priest pushed off the wall and moved to the table, spreading out a hand-drawn map of the warehouse district.
“Victor chose this location for a reason,” Priest said, tapping the paper. “Multiple exits. High ceilings. Plenty of cover. If this goes sideways, it’s going to be a killbox.”
“It’s going sideways,” I said flatly. “Victor’s not handing over fifty million dollars because we asked nicely.”
“Agreed.” Winston’s voice was ice. “Which is why Kaisen and Priest stay hidden with the soldiers. If shooting starts, you move in fast, extract us, and take as many of them muthafuckas out as you can along the way.”
Kaisen’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “And if you’re already dead?”
“Then you burn the whole fuckin’ place down and make sure Victor and Rahsaan don’t walk out either.”
Priest’s eyes flicked to me. “You good with that?”
I met his gaze. “I’m good with whatever it takes.”
“Even if it means not making it back to Truth?”
The room went silent.
I smiled—cold, humorless. “I’m making it back. That’s not up for debate.”
Kaisen finally looked up, his expression unreadable. “You really love her, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” I didn’t hesitate. “I do.”
“Then don’t do anything stupid tonight,” Priest said quietly. “Because if you die, Winston’s going to use that contract to take everything from her. You know that, right?”
I did know that.
And it was one more reason I couldn’t afford to lose.
“We ain’t got time for all that bullshit right now!
That’s y’all fucking problem now. That woman must got crack in her pussy the way you two act behind her,” Winston’s eyes bounced between me and Kaisen.
“Head in the game and on a swivel. Y’all can argue over y’all baby mama later, hell.
And for the record, I don’t give a fuck about none of that shit now that I’m not in business with Victor no more.
The shit was never personal. Y’all just made it that way. ”
“Let’s move,” I said, checking my watch. “We’ve got thirty minutes.”
The warehouse district was a graveyard of rusted metal and broken concrete.
Abandoned buildings loomed on either side of the street, their windows shattered, their walls covered in graffiti. The only light came from a few flickering streetlamps that barely cut through the darkness.
I parked two blocks away and killed the engine.
Winston checked his weapon—a .45 caliber with a custom grip—and slid it into the holster at his back.
“Remember,” he said, his voice low. “We go in calm. We talk first. But the second they make a move—”
“We end them.”
“Exactly.”
We climbed out of the truck and walked toward the warehouse in silence.
The building was massive—three stories of corrugated steel and exposed beams. The main entrance was a rusted roll-up door that had been propped open just enough for a man to slip through.
Victor was waiting inside.
He stood in the center of the empty space, hands in his pockets, his expression calm. Almost bored.
And then I saw him.
Rahsaan.
He stepped out of the shadows to Victor’s left, a slow smile spreading across his face.
Winston stopped walking.
“You brought him?” Winston’s voice was deadly quiet.
Victor shrugged. “Business makes strange bedfellows.”
“You teamed up with my opps,” Winston said, his voice rising. “You stole from me. And now you’re standing here with the man who’s been trying to kill my family for years?”
“Trying?” Rahsaan’s smile widened. “I’d say I’ve been pretty successful.”
My hand moved toward my gun, but Winston shot me a look that said, not yet.
“Where’s our money, Victor?” Winston’s voice was ice.
“Safe.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Victor tilted his head. “You want an answer? Here’s one: I took your money because you’re no longer trustworthy partners. You’ve been sloppy. Reckless. And your sons—” he glanced at me, “—have been making decisions with their dicks instead of their brains.”
“You’re the only untrustworthy muthafucka in this room,” Winston said, stepping closer. “You’re jealous, Victor. Always have been. Your empire—and I use that word loosely—is a fuckin’ joke. The only reason you’ve stayed relevant is that you attached your worthless daughter to my son.”
Victor’s expression didn’t change, but I saw the muscle in his jaw twitch.
“And speaking of Yahmaria,” Winston continued, his voice dripping with venom, “that bitch made the Landry name look bad with all her hoeing and carrying on. Lil’ pussy ain’t worth the body it’s attached to.
You should be paying us for the damage she caused.
Even you don’t give a fuck that we got her locked away, doing only God knows what to her. ”
Rahsaan laughed—low and dark.
“You Landrys always did have a way with words,” Rahsaan said, his eyes locking on mine. “But words don’t mean shit when you can’t back them up.”
“Try me,” I said quietly.
Rahsaan’s smile faded.
And then he said the words that changed everything.
“I killed your brothers.”
The world stopped.
“What?” My voice was barely a whisper.
“Elias and Silas.” Rahsaan’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “I put bullets in both their heads. Watched them bleed out on that warehouse floor while they begged for their lives.”
My vision tunneled.
“It’s been hard,” Rahsaan continued, his voice almost conversational. “Keeping that to myself all these years. Wanting nothing more than to rub it in your face. But I’m patient. Had to see the bigger picture. Play the long game.”
He stepped closer, his smile returning.
“Knowing I took the lives of the baby Landrys was enough to tie me over.”
Something inside me snapped.
I didn’t think.
I didn’t plan.
I just moved.
My gun was in my hand before Winston could stop me, and I was already firing—three shots in rapid succession aimed directly at Rahsaan’s chest.
He dove behind a steel beam, and the warehouse exploded into chaos.
Victor’s men appeared from the shadows, guns blazing.
I moved like smoke—ducking, weaving, my body flowing through the space like I wasn’t fully human. Bullets whizzed past my head, sparking off metal, embedding in concrete.
I returned fire, my shots precise and lethal.
One of Victor’s men dropped.
Then another.
Winston was shouting something, but I couldn’t hear him over the roar of gunfire and the pounding of my own heartbeat.
All I could see was Rahsaan.
All I could think about was Elias and Silas—my baby brothers, barely sixteen, gunned down in cold blood.
I fired again, and Rahsaan ducked behind a stack of crates.
“You’re gonna have to do better than that, Amai!” he shouted, laughing.
I reloaded without breaking stride, my hands moving on autopilot.
And then I heard it.
A sharp crack.
A grunt of pain.
I spun around and saw Winston on the ground, clutching his side, blood seeping through his fingers.
“Winston!”
But I didn’t have time to reach him.
Victor’s men were closing in, and Rahsaan was moving toward the exit.
I fired again—once, twice, three times—and one of the shots caught Rahsaan in the shoulder.
He stumbled but didn’t fall.
The warehouse was a war zone—bullets flying, men screaming, the air thick with smoke and blood.
But I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t stop.
Because I’d made a promise.
I was coming back to Truth.
And nothing—nothing—was going to keep me from her.
Victor saw it first.
The tide turning. Kaisen’s soldiers flooding in from the back entrance, weapons raised, moving with precision. The killbox he’d designed was collapsing.
He grabbed Rahsaan by the arm and yanked him toward the side exit—a rusted door half-hidden behind stacked pallets.
“We’re done here,” Victor said, his voice clipped.
Rahsaan resisted for half a second, his eyes still locked on me across the warehouse floor, that sick smile still on his face even with blood running down his arm.
“This ain’t over, Amai!” he shouted.
And then they were gone.
Disappeared into the night like smoke.
I wanted to chase them. Wanted to put bullets in both their backs and watch them bleed out on the concrete.
But Winston was heavy in my arms, his breathing shallow, and Kaisen’s soldiers were already moving to secure the perimeter.
“Get them out!” Kaisen shouted, and his men opened fire. “Move!” Kaisen barked, and two of his men flanked me, providing cover as I dragged Winston toward the exit.
Bullets still flew—Victor’s remaining men trying to buy their boss time to escape—but Kaisen’s crew was better trained. More disciplined.
One by one, Victor’s soldiers dropped or retreated.
By the time we reached the back door, the warehouse had gone quiet except for the ringing in my ears and the ragged sound of Winston’s breathing.
Kaisen was already at the SUV, the back door open, his face grim.
“Get him in,” he said, stepping aside.
I half-carried, half-dragged Winston into the backseat. His hand was still pressed against his side, blood soaking through his shirt, dripping onto the leather.
“I’m fine,” Winston muttered, but his voice was weak. Strained.
“You’re not fine,” I said flatly. “You’re bleeding out.”
“I’ve had worse.”
Kaisen climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. I slid into the passenger seat, my gun still in my hand, my body still vibrating with adrenaline.
Our eyes met in the rearview mirror.
Just for a second.
But in that second, something shifted.
Years of tension. Years of competition, resentment, jealousy. Years of Winston pitting us against each other, making us fight for scraps of approval.
All of it dissolved.