8. Ro
Ro
Storms on the Throne
Recommended Song: Nuthin’ But a ‘G’ Thang by Dr. Dre they just learned how to survive locked behind steel.
The closer I got to Grams’ block, the heavier the city felt.
Streetlights flickered in rhythm with the hum of my engine, every shadow stretching long like it wanted to snatch my tires out from under me.
I eased to a stop at the corner, engine purring low, eyes scanning the block.
Same Crest I grew up in, but it felt different—like somebody rearranged all the danger while I was gone, hid it in plain sight.
I cut the throttle and let the bike idle, the smell of wet pavement mixing with gasoline and somebody’s barbecue smoke drifting heavy from a porch down the way.
Kids’ laughter carried over from a yard, quick and sharp, disappearing behind the groan of a city bus dragging itself up a hill.
I sat there for a minute, helmet half-off, letting the damp night air cling to my skin, feeling the Crest breathing back at me.
This wasn’t just a ride anymore. It was a reminder—of the ghosts buried in these streets, of Sal’s name etched into concrete and Trigger’s voice filling every alley. And me, Roman Zore, rolling through like I was just another rumor waiting to get told.
I killed the engine a block from Grams’ house.
The Crest taught me long ago: roll quiet when it matters.
The mist clung thick, softening the streetlights, turning every shadow into something breathing.
My boots hit wet pavement, soles sticking on patches of oil baked into the concrete from years of parked cars that never moved unless cops started sniffing.
Grams’ porch light flickered, that same old bulb she swore she’d replace but never did, casting a weak gold halo over the steps.
The chipped paint on the railing, the potted plants lined up like soldiers, and that screen door with the dent in the middle from when I kicked it open during a fight—none of it had changed.
The smell of fried chicken, bleach, and incense drifted out the cracked window like time stood still on this block.
I stood at the bottom of those steps for a minute, helmet dangling from my hand, letting the familiar weight of this house settle over me. Felt like being back in a sanctuary and a warzone all at once. Memories here didn’t knock before they came in.
Every face I’d seen since I came back clawed at my chest now.
Nova’s eyes cutting through me like I’d dragged the rain with me.
Aaliyah’s laugh so innocent, it hurt worse than any bruise.
Trigger’s shadow always moving, playing this city like chess pieces, daring me to flinch.
Sal’s ghost still hovered around every corner, whispering I wasn’t built for this chair, but I took it anyway.
And Saint—Saint’s silence was heavier than any bullet.
Everybody had their role, and me? I was the mistake they all expected to repeat.
Coming back here was like pulling the pin on a grenade I’d left sitting on the porch years ago.
The porch creaked when I stepped up, loud enough to announce me. Before I could raise a hand to knock, the door cracked open, chain still on.
“You gon’ stand out there in the wet all night, boy, or you gon’ come in? You ridin’ late, boy. Spirit on you feelin’ heavy as a jail gate. Come sit your behind down.” Grams’ voice was sharp, that mix of love and warning she wore better than any church hat.
I lowered my head. “Didn’t wanna wake you, Grams.”
“You didn’t,” she clipped back, sliding the chain and opening the door. “You think I sleep easy knowin’ you back in this city? You better get in here.”
The warmth from her house hit me like a body blow—smell of cornbread cooling on the counter, lavender from her Sunday candles, and the faint hum of the gospel station on her old radio. Her eyes scanned me up and down, sharp as ever.
“Still ridin’ that death trap,” she muttered, motioning me inside.
“Bike gets me where I need to go,” I replied, pulling off my gloves.
“And what’s that, Ro?” she challenged, hands on her hips. “Trouble? ‘Cause it sure seems to find you without tryin’.”
I smirked, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “Maybe I’m lookin’ for somethin’ else this time.”
She raised an eyebrow, ushering me to sit at the kitchen table. “Men who wander in the rain always got somethin’ heavy on their mind.”
I dropped into the chair, feeling the weight of her words like they carried more than just worry. She brought me a plate, and for a moment, I felt like I was seventeen again, trying to convince her I wasn’t on a path she already knew too well.
Trigger’s moves played over in my mind like a bad film—him sitting on Sal’s throne without the blessing, twisting the whole Crest to his tune.
The envelope under Lani’s door, Saint guarding Nova’s porch like I’d been replaced, the whispers in Cruz’s about debts that don’t die.
My girl’s face when she saw Tarnesha on the back of my bike…
that cut deeper than any street beef ever could.
I’d been gone three years, and the city hadn’t just moved on—it built a whole new game, and I came back without knowing the rules.
Now I was sitting in this kitchen, wet boots on Grams’ floor, feeling like the prodigal son with a target on his back.
“You see Trigger yet?” she asked, voice soft but edged.
I paused, fork hovering. “Yeah.”
“Mhm.” She crossed her arms, studying me like a chessboard. “And he’s movin’ pieces already, ain’t he?”
I nodded once.
Her eyes narrowed. “Then you better be smarter than him this time, baby. ‘Cause Trigger plays for keeps, and this city don’t take sides. It just eats.”
I met her slitz, the truth in her words hitting harder than any threat Trigger ever gave me. “That’s why I came back, Grams,” I murmured. “I ain’t lettin’ him eat what’s mine.”
“Grams, I’m?—”
“Quiet,” she cut me off, eyes narrowing.
“I ain’t ask for excuses.” She studied me like she was reading a newspaper written on my skin.
“You been gone three years and think you gon’ just fix this city?
Devil had a head start, baby. You gon’ need more than a motorcycle and a patch.
” She leaned forward, voice low. “And you better pray before you play, Ro. ‘Cause this game? It ain’t got no winners.”
I rubbed my jaw, tension crawling up my spine.
“Nova still prayin’ for you,” Grams murmured, rocking back and forth on her heels like she always, do slow and steady. “You know that?”
My throat tightened. “That right?”
She gave a short chuckle that wasn’t humor. “That girl prays like she fightin’ the devil himself for your soul. And you out here lookin’ like the devil already won.”
I leaned on the railing, rain dripping off the brim of my fitted. “You think Trigger’s got this city?”
Grams’ lips curled into something between pity and fire. “Trigger moves like a whisper, but he hit like thunder. Don’t underestimate him, Ro. I done buried too many kings in this block.”
Her words dug in. I felt like I was 16 again, standing under her porch light after a fight, bleeding through my knuckles. She had that way about her—turning grown men into boys with a look.
“Appreciate you, Grams.”
“Go on now,” she waved me off, rocking her chair harder. “And stop draggin’ storms to my steps.”
The clock ticked loud in that kitchen. I gripped the fork tighter, tasting the weight of her warning more than the food.
The Crest might’ve felt like home, but every second I stayed here, I could feel the war brewing louder.
It was time for me to get out of here and face the rap.
I grabbed my helmet off counter and hit the screen door with a thud. I had to get out of here and fast.
I swung back onto my bike, engine growling as I rolled off her block. A black SUV slid out of the shadows, headlights low. The window rolled down slow, Saint sitting there calm, umbrella across his lap even though the rain wasn’t hitting him.
He didn’t speak at first, just stared like he was weighing the weather against my pulse. His silence pressed heavier than words.
“Something on your mind?” I muttered, fingers tight around the clutch.
Saint’s jaw flexed. “You’re drawing too much attention.”
“Attention finds me,” I gritted, visor fogging as the mist thickened.
“Then don’t give it more reason,” he shot back, voice flat but sharp. “The block’s watching, Ro. Trigger’s watching. Don’t slip.”
His gaze lingered, sharper than headlights, reading me like a sermon he already knew by heart.
“You got people looking for you,” he added, tone low, almost drowned by the idle hum of his engine. “Some of them to shake your hand. Some of them to put you in the ground. You should decide which one you want showing up Friday.”