Chapter 15
Ajori
My desk, which used to be nothing more than the end of the kitchen table, had finally been upgraded to a small white workspace I caught on sale for a little over a hundred dollars…
nothing fancy. My laptop had been upgraded too.
It didn’t overheat like the last one. It wasn’t one of those thousand-dollar, top-tier models people buy to flex, though.
Every time I looked at that setup, it reminded me I was building my life piece by piece…
responsibly, quietly, and without going broke trying to look rich.
Money wasn’t tight like it was before, but when you grow up broke, you don’t magically become a spender overnight; your spirit stays humble.
You still grab the off-brand everything because “it tastes the same.” You double-check your bank app before any purchase, even the tiny ones.
You flip the package over to check the price, even when you already know it’s cheap.
You’ll wait for a sale, even if it saves you nothing but five dollars.
You buy the kids what they want while whispering “maybe next time” to yourself.
You put things back at self-checkout because you suddenly decided you “didn’t really need it.
” You talk yourself out of things you can afford, then feel guilty the moment you actually treat yourself to something nice, even when you earned every bit of it.
It had been six whole weeks since I accidentally became a drug mule. In that time, I’d made a hundred and fifty-five thousand dollars, in clean, banded stacks.
Money so pretty it didn’t even look real at first.
By week three, I had the routes memorized better than my social.
I knew which entrances squeaked, which alleys stayed too quiet, and which faces meant I should keep my hand near the glove compartment.
Me and Drico were cool now, too. He wasn’t friendly, just respectful.
He’d nod, I’d nod, we moved like clockwork.
No flirting… no weirdness… just business.
But when I went back to Dino the following week?
Lord…
Dino’s face looked like he lost a boxing match he didn’t train for, sign up for, or even know he was in.
It was clear he got ambushed. His eye was a mottled shade of dark purple and swollen shut.
His nose had taken a brutal hit. It was crooked and shaped like a question mark.
And his lip? Yeah, that lip clocked out before the fight even started.
Dino barely glanced at me. Gone was the “new mule” flirtatious energy he had during our first encounter. He didn’t even so much as crack a smile. He just waved me off with a quick, “You’re good. You can go,” like he was scared his face might fall off if he said more than five words.
I wasn’t complaining about the lack of communication, but damn, something definitely went down. And whoever did it? Yeah, Dino clearly fucked with the wrong person, because that damage looked personal.
I would’ve been reached the amount I needed for Kyrin’s surgery, but life loves to trip me right before the finish line.
During week three, I got hit with the flu so hard I thought somebody put a root on me.
I was out for a solid week. Then… two weeks after that, Kyrin got sick.
So I missed a couple more runs nursing him back to health.
Surprisingly, Marcos—and whoever his mysterious boss was, that he always needed approval from—were extremely understanding.
Maybe because, for the first two weeks, I’d picked up extra runs with no issues.
I was hungry for money. I was trying to do everything I could to hit that surgery goal and stack enough for us to breathe comfortably until I graduated.
So no, doing the runs wasn’t solely about paying for Kyrin a new heart; it was also about giving us a cushion…
a safety net, so to speak. But Kyrin stayed priority… always.
Kyrin shuffled into the kitchen, yawning, eyes barely open, hoodie half-on, curls smashed to one side like he’d been wrestling in his sleep.
Top of Form
Bottom of Form
“Good morning, sport,” I greeted him with a smile. “How are you feeling?”
He didn’t even bother answering with words; he just nodded, slowly, like his neck was still waking up.
I smirked. “So… tired?”
Another nod.
Kyrin wandered deeper into the kitchen, looked around, then turned back toward me with a concerned frown.
“Jo, I’m out of cereal, and we need milk.”
Shit. I meant to get him some.
Kyrin wasn’t picky about much, but when it came to food, he had rituals. That boy ate Cinnamon Toast Crunch every Saturday morning, and did so faithfully, for the last two years.
Why? I had no clue.
But if that box wasn’t on the shelf when he wanted it, one would think the world was ending.
“I forgot,” I said softly. “But as soon as I finish this assignment—I’m talkin’ ten minutes—we’ll run to the store and get some. Deal?”
He nodded, yawning again, then padded back toward the bedroom to get dressed.
***
I pushed the cart forward, mentally checking off everything I needed and making sure it actually made it into the cart that time.
Water.
Gatorade for Kyrin.
His favorite oatmeal.
His “must-have” Saturday cereal.
Some other random food items.
Oh… and a Celsius energy drink for me.
I needed those to keep my brain functioning. The way my life was set up, caffeine was my second bloodstream.
As I reached for the cereal box, my phone alerted me of a notification. It was a text from Marcos.
Marcos: I’ll be back in town later this evening. We need to meet, but it won’t be at the warehouse. I’ll send a different location.
Me: Okay. Cool.
Marcos had been gone for almost a month. Despite that, we still talked almost every day. But meeting somewhere other than the warehouse? Yeah… that was unusual.
My anxiety rose instantly, whispering, What if I messed up something? What if this is a “Boss needs to talk to you” situation?
Before I could spiral, Kyrin’s voice pulled me back. “Jo?”
I blinked repeatedly. “Huh?”
He shifted his weight, suddenly shy. “A lot of kids at my school have iPads. I… I wanna know if maybe I could get one for Christmas? I understand if you don’t have the money.”
That hit me right in the chest.
He shouldn’t have had to say it like wanting something made him a burden.
I crouched down to his level. “Yeah, you can get one, sport. Look at it as an early Christmas present.”
“Yes!” he exclaimed in excitement. “Oh! Can I get one more thing?” he added, in a timid tone.
Kyrin gave me that look with the little lip pout, head tilt, and big innocent eyes that he knew I always fell for.
Manipulative as hell… in the cutest way possible.
I raised an eyebrow. “What’s the ‘one more’ thing?”
“Um… I’ll have to show you,” he said, twisting the strap of his hoodie.
I sighed dramatically. “Well, come on.”
He grinned, satisfied, already planning whatever he was about to add to the cart.
I didn’t even care what it cost. His happiness was priceless and worth more to me than any dollar amount I’d ever hustled for.
***
Marcos had me meet him at an old train depot by a park at eight o’clock that night.
The fact that it was dark caused my anxiety to go from tap dancing to doing backflips.
I spotted his car parked in a shadowed corner, windows tinted darker than the law should allow, engine idling. I pulled up beside him and got out.
The minute I opened the passenger door he lifted a finger to his lips.
“Hold up,” he mouthed.
I froze, hand still on the door frame.
The speaker crackled, and a deep, smooth, and ridiculously sexy voice filled the car. That
“Two hours late?” the guy on the other end questioned angrily. “Do you know how much that cost us, Marcos?”
His tone was unraveling something in me, even though I had yet to lay eyes on him. He had the kind of voice that made a person straighten their back without thinking… and made a woman wonder what else he could make her do with just a sound.
Marcos smirked, lounging back in a way that suggested he was talking to his older brother, and not a man who sounded like he buried people on Tuesdays.
“Relax, Dom. I already talked to him.”
Dom?
“That’s not what I’m asking,” Dom replied, his tone sharpening. “Talking is what got us here. He needs to understand what kind of operation this is. A late drop is worse than no drop! People start thinking we’re careless! I don’t like that shit!”
Marcos adjusted in his seat. His left arm draped lazily over the steering wheel as he surveyed the night.
“So what you want me to do? You want me to talk some more… or you want me to send a message? We just brought that new corner boy in. He’s young, but he listens.
I can have him ride past, tighten things up a little.
” He paused, then added with a low chuckle, “’Cause look, I’ll talk to a nigga all day, but I ain’t no killer.
I recruit ‘em; I don’t reduce the headcount. ”
A tense pause lingered in the air before Dom’s voice lowered, each word heavier with danger. “Then use what’s available to you. I don’t care who does it; I care that it gets done. Nothing that removes him from rotation, but enough so that every time he picks up a package, his hands shake.”
Marcos didn’t flinch at the order. His unwavering calm was almost impressive.
“Say less. I’ll have Reek handle it. He’s been looking for a reason to prove himself anyway.”
“Good,” Dom replied, voice low and precise. “Then let him earn his place.”
The line fell silent, and I could almost sense the thoughts churning in Dom’s mind before he added, “You got that new girl lined up for tomorrow?”
Marcos’s gaze flicked toward me, and though his lips didn’t twitch, I felt the energy shift.
“Yup.”