Chapter 14 #2
Dre spit blood onto the concrete, still trying to stand tall, but I didn’t spare him a glance. My focus was on the kid in front of me. The one I needed alive; the one Stormi would never forgive me for breaking.
“Get outta here,” I said flat, no room for debate. “Take Jo home.”
Noah stared at me, breathing heavy, anger still rolling off him. For a second, I thought he’d push back. But then he nodded, stepped away from Dre, and grabbed Jo’s arm.
“Come on,” he muttered, leading her off into the night.
I didn’t watch them leave. My back was already turned. There was still work to do, blood to spill, and a war to finish inside that warehouse.
I followed my niggas through the door, my mind already shifting. Whatever family drama just played out. That could wait. Tonight wasn’t over.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Stormi. Picture: her and Shiloh wide awake in bed, S3 sprawled out on my side like he’d worked night shift all week.
No message, just the photo she was showing me, this is what’s home waiting for you.
I thumbed a heart back. No words needed. That little heart was a promise.
When I pushed open the warehouse door, the smell hit me: oil, sweat, stale liquor and the quiet that comes after a room holds its breath.
Dre was there, suspended from chains. He wasn’t dead yet.
My niggas stood around him like they were at a cookout, chopping it up, passing jokes.
That laughter so casual made my stomach twist.
Surgeon pointed at a steel table laid out like a butcher’s altar.
“Left you something,” he said, voice deadpan, eyes flicking to the kit of tools and the machine that hissed like it had teeth.
The same machine that could restart a heart if anyone cared to use it.
Surgeon had a way of making instruments look ceremonial.
I smiled. “Good looks,” I told him, and dapped him up.
E clapped my shoulder. They moved out like ghosts.
Rome and King came next, slapping hands with me like this was business as usual.
“Next link we celebratin’ somethin’,” Rome said, grinning, the kind of grin that meant we all hoped it would be over for good.
Mega, Ivan, and Balblair switched their vests for jackets and tossed a smirk over their shoulders. “Call us if you need help dumpin’ the body,” Mega said, voice light but edged.
I stepped closer to Dre. He hung there like a puppet with the lights catching blood on his skin.
For a second I let my head fill with a memory of Stormi her smile in the photo, the way S3’s fist had been curled around his hulk action figured he carried everywhere tiny things that had nothing to do with the blood we were about to spill.
That picture was another kind of weapon; seeing their faces calm and safe kept the part of me that was still human from snapping completely.
“Stormi had Shiloh. Ten pounds. He a fighter just like her. You thought you could take her away, leave me broken,” I said, my voice steady but my hands trembling with the weight of everything I’d carried.
I stepped closer to Dre, grabbed the chain holding him up, and yanked it so his body stretched out flat.
Rich slid the surgical bed under him, his face cold, he’d done this a hundred times.
“They had to cut her open. C-section,” I explained, remembering the whole scene play out, I pieced together the nurses and doctors orders. Southside handed me the blade without a word. I pressed it to Dre’s stomach and dragged it across, clean and deliberate, the way they did to my wife.
Dre’s scream tore through the warehouse.
“Damn, young nigga,” Southside laughed, shaking his head. “Can’t take what you dish out?”
Dre’s breath came ragged and uneven. He was trying to control it, trying to find rhythm in the pain, but I wasn’t about to let him. I dug my hands in, prying his skin apart. His eyes fluttered, rolling like he wanted to check out.
“No, Dre. Don’t die on me yet.” I caught his chin, forcing him to look at me. “You stay right here.”
Rich slid over the defibrillator, same one I’d stared at in a hospital while praying over Stormi. I pressed the paddles to Dre’s chest.
“Clear.”
The shock lifted him off the table. His eyes snapped wide open, fear and pain battling inside them.
“I know you miss Ronnie,” I whispered, leaning close enough he could feel my breath. “But give me a few more minutes, then I’ll let you join him.”
I laughed as his body jerked under another shock. “Damn, this shit strong,” I said, passing the machine to Rich.
Rich grinned, pressing the paddles back to Dre’s chest. Another jolt, another scream. His skin flushed red, like fire eating him from the inside.
“Shit, lemme try that,” Southside said, already reaching for the handles and shocking Dre again.
I held up my hand. “Wait. Almost forgot we got to remove the bullets you put in her. Two stayed in. Third went clean through.”
I pulled my piece, aimed, and fired. One in his shoulder. One in his chest. Dre convulsed, blood blooming across his shirt.
I leaned down; eyes locked on him. “Now we almost even.”
I set my gun down and picked up the tools, digging into the fresh wound, pulling for the bullet while Dre screamed so hoarse it barely sounded human.
My mind drifted, not to him, not to the blood, but to Stormi.
To where I’d take her when this was done.
Greece was our last stop. Maybe Thailand this time.
I’d caught her scrolling TikTok, eyes shining while people fed lions and elephants lifted folks off the ground like toys.
She deserved that. She deserved more than any of this.
“You good, bruh?” Rich asked, snapping me back.
“Yeah,” I muttered, still working. “Thinkin’ Thailand when we get back.”
Rich smirked. “Bring me back a goddaughter.”
I chuckled, shaking my head.
“Damn, nigga, you tryin’ to catch up with me?” Southside barked out a laugh.
“Catch up with you, shit. You on a whole other level.”
We all laughed, even with blood soaking the floor.
That was the thing. No matter what line we crossed, we always found a way to act like family.
Southside had a kid for damn near every day of the week, but his household wasn’t chaos.
He had some next level shit; multiple baby mamas, no drama, one roof.
Not even poly, more like some sister-wives arrangement. And it worked for him.
I kept laughing with them, but my eyes never left Dre. My hand never stopped digging. This wasn’t about fun, this was my redemption, my final chapter in this game.
I pulled my phone out, thumb hovering like I was about to call God Himself.
But it wasn’t Him I needed. It was Stormi.
I could give her everything money could buy, every diamond, every key to every country.
I could give her love that left me full of life.
But what she needed now wasn’t me saving her, it was her power back.
She needed to remember who the fuck she was.
The line clicked. Her voice came soft, half asleep, half awake.
“Hello?”
“Meet me somewhere. Josh outside waiting on you.”
“Bae… what?” Confusion laced her tone, that groggy sweetness I hated disturbing.
“Come to me,” I said, firm.
There was a pause, then the sound of sheets moving, her steps quick. “I’m coming,” she whispered before ending the call.
Rich blew smoke in the air, eyes cutting toward me. “What’s next?”
“I want her to take her power back,” I said, sinking into a chair, flicking the lighter, and pulling the smoke deep into my lungs. Waiting for my wife.
Josh got the text bring her straight to me.
No detours. Me, Rich, and Southside sat there in the blood haze, weed burning slow.
Dre was still hanging on, breath hitching like every second was a punishment.
He’d been cut open, patched up, shocked, torn apart.
All that was left was that last trip to hell, but it wasn’t supposed to be by my hand.
Twenty minutes passed before I felt her.
Before I even saw her. That energy of hers.
Then she walked in, and the whole room shifted.
Black shorts gripping her hips like they were made for her, crop top showing off her snapback, the kind of bounce back women prayed for.
Baby making hips, stomach flat again but God, I missed her with the bump, carrying my son.
Her curls framed her face, wild and soft.
Her eyes found mine. “I don’t want to see you kill him, Seth.”
I stood, slow smile spreading across my face. “Good. Because I’m not gonna end this nigga. You are.”
Her breath caught. “What?”
I stepped closer, brushed my fingers against her chin, forcing her to look at me. “He took something from you. Now I want you to return the favor.”
Her voice trembled. “Seth, I don’t want to.”
“You need to,” I pressed, my words heavy, slicing through her excuses. “You need to take your power back. Let a nigga know they can never play with Stormi and think they gon’ live to tell the story.”
I grabbed her hand, warm, small in mine, and pulled her forward.
She followed like she always did. Stormi didn’t know it yet, but she ran all this.
Shit didn’t move unless she said so. She had the kind of control that could break me into pieces if she wanted to.
But she never would. That’s why I loved her.
I yanked Dre upright, his body dangling from the chain, and pressed the gun into her hand.
“End this nigga. Just like Daddy taught you.” My lips brushed her neck, my voice sinking into her ear. “I’m right here.”
Stormi turned her face toward me, kissed me back. And then she smiled, the kind of smile I swore I’d protect until the day I stopped breathing.
Before I could blink, before I could even stay lost in her, she raised the gun and emptied the whole clip into Dre like she was born for it. No hesitation.
“Stormi Knight Greene,” I thought, chest heavy, pride and love tangling until I could barely stand it. My wife. My heart. My everything.
I smacked her ass, pulled her close, her body still shaking with adrenaline, mine with hunger for her.
“Yeah, you getting that goddaughter,” I said to Rich over my shoulder, smirking.
Then I scooped her up like she weighed nothing, carried her out of that warehouse, out of the blood, out of the smoke. Back home with my wife. Back home to my sons. Back to everything that kept me human.