Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Fifteen years.
The judge delivered it as if it were perfectly logical. Like, there was a mathematical formula to it that made sense if you just possessed the right equation.
That sentence became Havoc’s entire life, and Danger stood in that courtroom, watching his brother get led out in handcuffs without saying a single word.
He had heard everything but retained almost none of it.
He remembered the judge using words like monster and killer in a voice so detached it might as well have been a local weather report.
He remembered the defense lawyer talking about the plea agreement as if it were a victory, strictly because the security footage could have easily gotten Havoc life without parole.
The footage from the gas station showed two men going blow-for-blow until one went down, and at that point, Havoc didn’t stop until the man was beaten to a pulp.
That was the brutal part the jury would have seen.
That was the part the lawyer insisted they couldn’t defend at a trial.
Self-defense ended the exact second the man’s body hit the pavement.
That was the legal line. Everything after that line cost fifteen years.
Danger had paid over a hundred thousand dollars for someone to sit him down and tell him that.
He didn’t even remember driving back to the apartment. He only remembered the front door. The empty hallway. The suffocating way the apartment felt when he crossed the threshold. He stood in the center of the living room for a fraction of a second before he lost it.
“Fuck!”
His lungs burned. One by one, he rammed his fists into the living room wall.
He struck the surface until the drywall crumbled to the floor like gray confetti, until his knuckles split open, and his arms finally ran out of whatever adrenaline had been driving them.
His legs gave out. He slid down the ruined wall and sat in the rubble, his chest heaving. The agonizing burn slow to ease.
Life was breaking him. Every single time he felt like he was taking a step in the right direction, some internal, gravity-like force dragged him ten steps back. First, he had lost his mother to the grave, and now, he was losing his brother to the state.
For hours, Danger stayed paralyzed in that spot, staring blankly as the light in the room shifted from afternoon gold to gray.
His mind raced in circles. What caused Havoc to do something so stupid?
His brother's temper had always been an issue.
While Danger was the level-headed one, Havoc was usually the calculated brother.
He knew exactly what those hands could do, and yet he kept swinging anyway.
Danger hadn’t even gotten the chance to ask him why. The first call he’d received was Havoc frantically telling him to find a lawyer. Everything after that had been an endless blur of paperwork and courtrooms.
Exhaustion eventually took over, and he fell asleep right there on the floor.
The vibration of his phone woke him up sometime later. He declined the call without looking at the screen, but a minute later, it dinged with a voicemail. He sat against the baseboard for a long moment before pressing play.
“Hi, Dmitri. This is Rebekkah. Just checking in since I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days.
I spoke to the lender, and they are still waiting for your down payment.
Unfortunately, the seller received another offer on the building.
An all-cash offer over asking, and he is seriously considering it if we don’t hear from you soon.
He’s leaving the country by the end of the week.
Please call me back as soon as you can.”
He dropped the phone onto the floor and stared blankly at the ceiling.
The down payment was gone. Every single dollar. Every account he’d meticulously built over the years had been drained in a panic trying to keep his brother out of a cage. He didn’t have a dime left to put down on that building. He couldn't even blame the seller for walking away.
The building was gone. His mother was gone. Havoc was still here but mentally gone.
To make matters worse, his connect was waiting for payment on a fronted product that was still completely stagnant because the one person Danger needed to help him distribute it was a Department of Corrections property.
He picked up his phone and hurled it across the room. It struck the flat-screen TV, shattering both screens into a web of black glass.
He didn’t move for a long time after that.
He stopped keeping track of the sun. He went to the neighborhood bar.
He went to the liquor store. He went back to the apartment.
He went to sleep. He woke up and then repeated the cycle.
Chyna had shown up at his door at some point.
He’d heard her frantic knocking, heard her call his name through the wood, but he just sat on the kitchen floor, staring at the dead space until her footsteps faded down the hall.
He hadn't bought a replacement phone. He was starting to prefer silence.
He knew by now the property had probably been sold. He knew his connects patience had an expiration date. He knew all of it, and still, he sat at the bar with another glass in front of him, letting his problems turn into white noise.
“So, you just givin’ up on everything?”
The familiar voice shattered his isolation. Danger hadn’t even heard anyone pull up the stool.
He didn’t look over. He just downed the remainder of his liquor, set the empty glass down, and raised two fingers to catch the bartender's eye. A moment later, a fresh glass slid into view. He picked it up, took a gulp, and stopped.
Water.
He set it down slowly and turned his head.
Q sat beside him, his leather hat tilted low. He looked at Danger with the look of someone who refused to let him drown in plain sight.
“What do you want, Quincy?” Danger muttered.
Q let out a dry laugh. “I want you to get your act together. That’s what.”
“You think this is funny?”
“I don’t think a damn thing about your situation is funny.” Q’s voice dropped, losing its edge. “I think it’s one of the worst stretches of tragedy I’ve watched a man go through in a long time. And I think you sitting in this bar is the wrong response to it.”
“So, what’s the right response?” Danger’s voice cracked. “What would you do, Q? Lose your mother, lose your brother... lose every single thing you spent years building. What do you do with that? Because I would love for you to give me the roadmap.”
Q didn’t flinch. “I’d feel exactly how you’re feeling right now. And then I’d get the fuck up. You are much stronger than the shit you are going through.”
“I am strong. I’ve been strong my entire life,” Danger slurred. “But it takes a toll, Q. It takes a toll, and I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t know how to shake back from all of this hitting me at once.”
Q was quiet for a long moment. He picked up the glasses and moved them to the far end of the bar. Then he dropped two hundred-dollar bills onto the counter, stood up, and placed a firm hand on Danger’s shoulder.
“You don’t have to figure it out by yourself. Come on.”
Danger looked up at him, hesitating.
“Come on,” Q repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Danger got up.
He didn’t ask questions. He climbed into the passenger seat of Q’s Tahoe, leaned his forehead against the window, and watched the city blur past. The residual liquor remained in his system, causing his eyelids to feel heavy. Eventually, he slipped into a drunken stupor.
Q’s voice eventually pulled him back to reality. “Wake up, Dmitri.”
Danger opened his eyes, blinking against the streetlights. It took his brain a moment to process the geography. He didn’t recognize the block at first. Then, the silhouette of the building came into view.
He sat up straight. “Why are we here?”
“Get out of the truck, and I’ll explain.”
Danger climbed out slowly, his eyes locked on the brick structure. This was supposed to be his building. His future label. The cornerstone of his legitimate life.
“Q,” Danger said, turning around as the older man walked up. “Why are we here?”
Q came to a halt beside him, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.
“I made a promise to your father,” he said quietly.
“A long time ago. Before you or Havoc were old enough to understand what a promise like that costs a man.” He paused, looking up at the structure.
“Your old man did something for me that I will spend the rest of my days being grateful for. He gave up his freedom, his life with you boys, out of loyalty to me. He never asked me for a single thing in return, except to make sure his boys were straight if things ever went sideways.”
Danger went rigid. He had never known the full story behind his father’s arrest years ago. Growing up, the official narrative was just drug possession and a few bad choices.
“I let you and Havoc move how you wanted to,” Q continued. “Let you make your own way, make your own mistakes. That was intentional. Y'all didn’t need another man trying to play daddy or dictate your lives. But this right here? This I could handle.”
Q pulled a brass ring of keys from his pocket and held them out.
Danger stared at them, his breath slowing at the realization. “You bought it.”
Q nodded. “Everything is signed, sealed, and in your name. I called Rebekkah, wired the funds, and got it sorted out. Had to use a little muscle to get that cash buyer to step back, but it’s yours. Your father never let me pay that debt back to him. Maybe you’ll let me start paying it back to you.”
Danger looked from the keys to the towering building. The grief was still there; some days it was suffocating, but underneath the rubble of his life, a solid foundation had just been poured.
He reached out and took the keys. “Thank you, Q.”
Q patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t thank me. Thank your father.” He paused, looking at Danger closely. “I know he’s not your favorite person, Dmitri. He’s done a lot of fucked-up shit over the years, and the distance is great. But you should call him. He needs to hear your voice, especially now.”
Q handed him a cheap, prepaid burner phone from his dashboard. “His direct line at Keen Mountain is pre-programmed. Go ahead. I’m getting back in the truck.”
Q stepped away, leaving Danger alone.
Danger stared at the burner phone in his calloused hand. His heart hammered against his ribs. He hadn't spoken to his father in over three years. He remembered the man as a ghost or shadow of broken promises.
With a trembling thumb, he hit the only contact on the phone.
The line rang, then he heard a click.
“Hello?”
The voice was older than Danger remembered. It was raspy but was unmistakably his father's.
Danger swallowed hard, the word catching in his throat. “Pop.”
A suffocating silence fell over the line. Danger could hear the faint sounds of a prison in the background, clanging steel doors and guards shouting, but between them, the air was dead.
“Dmitri?” his father asked. “Son? That’s you?”
“Yeah,” Danger said, his voice flat. “It’s me.”
“Q said he was going to get you to talk to me on the phone,” his father said. He cleared his throat, then Danger could hear him shifting his weight on the other end, the awkwardness creeping in through the static. “Look, um... Q told me about your mama.”
Danger didn't say anything. He just listened to the hum of the line.
“I know y’all were close,” his father continued, his tone stiff, clearing his throat again as if he was struggling to find the right vocabulary for grief.
“I know it’s... It’s gotta be a lot on you.
Being depressed and all. I know how you get when you’re inside your head, Dmitri. You always did take things hard.”
The detached way his father described his mourning made Danger’s jaw tighten. Depressed. It felt like an understatement, poor word choice from a man who hadn’t been around to see the reality of the funeral.
“She’s gone, Pop,” Danger said, his voice hollow. “And Havoc just got fifteen years. The whole family was torn apart while you were sitting in there.”
Another long, uncomfortable pause stretched between them. He knew his father wasn't equipped for tears or emotional breakdowns; he had survived by turning into stone, and he clearly didn't know how to handle a grieving son.
“Yeah,” his father said softly. "Word travels down to the state facilities. I heard about Havoc’s situation too. It’s a mess. A damn mess.” He sighed. “I wish I had some answers for you. But I’m behind these walls. There ain’t much I can say to change what’s already done.”
The awkwardness of the moment hung in the air. They were both lost. Lost about a woman they both loved in different ways.
“Q gave me the keys to the building,” Danger said, wanting to pivot away from the small talk.
“Good,” his father said, sounding visibly relieved by the change of subject.
His tone returned to an authoritative one.
“Good. Q owes me his life, and he’s doing what he’s supposed to do to ensure you have everything you need.
You take that property, and you do what you need to do with it.
Don’t let the heaviness of this shit break you, Dmitri. ”
“I gotta get off this phone,” his father said. “But... call me next week if you can. Keep me updated on everything.”
“I will.” Danger said.
“Alright then. Take care of yourself.”
“You too.”
Click. The line went dead.
Danger lowered the phone. The conversation hadn't healed a damn thing; if anything, the awkward exchange only highlighted how truly alone he was in navigating his grief, his loss. But as he looked back up at the brick building. He knew the silence was over. He had work to do.
He walked over to the truck and got into the passenger seat.
“I will put you in touch with my connections down in Atlanta who can give you a little guidance while getting your label set up. Go down there for a bit and clear your head. I will help you get started on the building’s renovations while you are away.
Don’t worry about yo’ connect either. I fixed that.
I just got one request as soon as you get back, you gotta handle yo’ shit. ”
Danger nodded, and Q pulled away from the building.