Chapter 63 Ares
Ares
“We Move Different Now”
The jet touched down in LA midday.
I didn’t waste time heading to the black Maybach waiting for me on the runway.
Tommy already told me where he was.
Ritz-Carlton.
Top floor.
Ducked off.
Smart.
On the walk through the private entrance at the Ritz, my mind drifted for a second—
Not to the explosion.
To Yuna.
The way she stood in my room, arms crossed, calling me out like she had a right to.
Because she did.
“Stop acting like you don’t have a heart condition…”
Yeah.
She wasn’t supposed to know that: her or my mother.
But she went looking for me.
And found more than she needed.
I thought back to my doctor’s days ago. Routine. Private office in Marseille. Clean. Expensive.
Our family doctor stood across from me, stethoscope still around his neck, brows slightly furrowed.
“Take a breath again.” He put his stethoscope to my back
He listened longer this time.
Too long.
Then he stepped back.
“There’s a murmur,” he said.
I shrugged. “So?”
“It could be nothing,” he replied, calm but measured. “Or it could be something structural.”
I didn’t react.
Didn’t care.
“I want to run an echocardiogram,” he added. “Today.”
I exhaled through my nose.
“Do what you need to do.”
They took me to a different room.
Dim lights.
Cold gel on my chest.
Screen flickering with images of my heart, I didn’t care to understand.
After it was over, the nurse cleaned me with alcohol pads and then stuck a sticky heart monitor to my chest.
Later, back in his office.
He slid paperwork across the table.
“You have to wear that monitor for fourteen days,” he said.
I glanced down.
Didn’t even really read it.
Just saw enough.
“Why?”
“You mentioned chest discomfort,” he said. “Especially when drinking.”
I leaned back.
“It’s light.”
“It’s still worth tracking.”
I didn’t argue.
Didn’t agree either.
Just stood up.
“Let me know if it’s something serious.”
Now, I was moving around like my doctor didn’t have me on watch.
I exhaled slightly as I reached Zay’s door.
I shouldn’t have said anything about chest pain.
Now Yuna got that look in her eye…
Like she’s about to start trying to control something.
Make me slow down.
Make me… what?
Sober?
I almost smirked.
She’d try it.
I already knew.
“Damn,” I muttered under my breath. “Now she on me.”
I brushed it off.
Like everything else.
By the time I stepped into his suite, I already knew what I was walking into.
Zay was by the window.
Shirtless.
Shoulder swollen like hell.
Bruised deep.
Red creeping into purple.
He turned slightly when I walked in.
“Shit crazy, bro, and I still can’t hear,” he said bitterly.
“Damn, shit fucked up.” I shook my head.
“Huh?”
I stepped closer.
“I said—can you hear me?”
“Not really,” he muttered. “One side gone.”
I nodded once.
I grabbed his shoulder lightly, turning him a bit so I could really see it.
That shit was bad.
“Yeah,” I said low. “That’s fucked up.”
He let out a short breath.
“No shit.”
I stepped back.
Looked around the room once.
Then shook my head.
“It don’t feel right here. We can’t plot here.”
He frowned slightly. “Huh?”
“It’s not safe here.”
I turned toward the door. “Get your shit.”
Zay didn’t argue.
Just moved.
Slow, but steady.
A few minutes later, we were downstairs.
My driver already waiting.
We got in.
Pulled off.
The city faded behind us the further we drove.
Desert stretching out ahead.
Hidden.
That’s how I liked it, so I took him to my spot in Mirage, California.
Zay sat back in the seat, one hand holding his shoulder.
I glanced at him.
“You good?”
“Huh?”
I exhaled slightly.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Just can’t hear for shit.”
“That’ll come back. I got a doctor on standby for you,” I assured him.
He nodded once.
Didn’t look convinced.
We pulled up to the property about an hour later.
Low.
Wide.
One-hundred-degree heat outside.
No neighbors.
Just space and control.
We stepped out.
A doctor was already inside waiting.
No questions asked.
Zay sat on the couch while the doctor moved his arm carefully.
“You’re gonna feel this,” the doctor warned him.
The adjustment came quickly.
A sharp shift.
A pop.
Zay gritted his teeth hard.
“Shit—”
He exhaled. “Better.”
The nurse with him wrapped it.
Stabilized it.
Pain meds kicked in not long after.
They cleared his ears of debris.
A couple of hours later, he was laid back on the couch, eating hot wings.
A little more relaxed now.
Still alert.
But not as tense.
“They knew your route.”
He looked at me. “What?”
I leaned forward slightly. “They knew where you’d be.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
“That ain’t random.”
“No.”
We sat with that for a second.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?”
I looked at him. “Say it.”
“Devon.”
I leaned back.
Ran my hand across my beard.
“If it ain’t him,” I said, “he knows who it is.”
Zay nodded. “Either way… he’s involved.”
We both went quiet.
Thinking.
Running scenarios.
“Nobody has seen him since the meeting I had with my g-pops?”
Zay shook his head. “Nah, I called a few people. They said he ain’t been around.”
I smirked slightly. “Yeah…”
That said everything.
He leaned forward a little.
Winced slightly from the movement.
Then looked at me.
“If he is hiding…”
I finished it.
“He is guilty.”
We locked eyes.
Same conclusion.
Same energy.
Zay shifted back into the couch.
“Let’s go pay Shayla a visit.”
I glanced at him.
He smirked slightly. “I know she ain’t hiding.”
I stood up.
Ready…