CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
PARISH “NEWDY” TOUSSAINT
Parrish hadn’t been outside in the city this late since coming home.
Truth was, he was never the outside type to begin with.
He didn’t like the mix, didn’t like crowds, didn’t like people all in his face.
Parrish was a homebody by nature, an introvert with a reputation loud enough that he never had to say much.
When he did show up somewhere, he stayed quiet and to himself.
He didn’t do the mixy shit, it wasn’t his twist. That was part of the reason folks called him the evil twin.
The city loved his brother, Parris. Outside was his domain.
Parris lived for attention, for noise, for fast bikes and big crowds. In Philly’s bike-life scene he was damn near a legend, which gave him access to places and people he had no business being around. Places that fed his ego… and ultimately led to his demise. Parish wasn’t built like that.
He never needed the spotlight. Never wanted it. But somehow, he was always the one picking up the pieces Parris left behind. Tonight, wasn’t supposed to be one of those nights.
It was damn near three-thirty in the morning, and Parrish had just finished dealing with Cal, who got so fucked up he had to throw him over his shoulder and carry him out the club.
Then he had to go back inside because the fool only had one shoe on.
By the time Parrish finally dumped Cal in the backseat, snoring and useless, he was over it.
His night was done. He wanted silence, his bed, and to disappear back into the version of himself that didn’t have to be outside.
He didn’t want to be responsible for anybody.
He should’ve known the night wasn’t finished with him yet when he saw the missed calls from Najee.
Parrish was halfway back to the car when another incoming call from Najee lit up his screen.
He started to ignore it, but Najee had already called him twice in the last 15 minutes.
“Yo bro, Where you at?” Najee asked, voice clipped. “Outside Limitless.”
“Bet. Do me a favor. Find Kormia. Jackie wanted me to make sure she got home. I tried to call Cal but his phone is dead. Handle it for me.” Parrish rubbed a hand down his jaw and exhaled slow.
He didn’t want to go near Kormia’s messy ass with a ten-foot pole.
She had been flexing the entire night, in the section across from them, with these 3 old niggas, and a bunch of bad bitches.
Kormia’s section was so lit the chicks were leaving Jamil’s section, to party with her instead.
Meanwhile Parish watched her, and in the small moments when she wasn’t standing on sofas and blowing hookah smoke into front cameras, she looked just as out of place as he felt.
Prior to tonight, the last time he saw Kormia was at the hospital, in the waiting room after Syxe fell and even then, she seemed off.
That day she didn’t even look in his direction.
He hated that he even noticed that. Hated that he noticed her.
Parrish started to say no, but Najee rarely asked him for favors.
“Bro, you burning me the fuck out right now,” Parrish said.
“I already got Cal drunk ass in my back seat, and I don’t even see her.”
He said as he surveyed the let out and there she was, on the opposite side of the street, with the same old niggas she was partying with all night. Najee spoke again.
“Newdy, please do me this solid. I promised Jackie I would get her home.” Parrish frowned. “Jackie?” There was silence on Najee’s end. Parrish’s eyes narrowed.
“Najee. I hope we ain’t talking about the same Jackie, Cash just crashed out on Zambia and her friends about at the club tonight?” Still silence. Then a long exhale. Parrish shook his head. Knowing this would not end well. “Najee, I don’t normally get in y’all shit, cause y’all both my niggas.
But respectfully bro…you playing with fire.”
“Yeah,” Najee said. “Which is why I need you to make sure Kormia gets home safe.”
Parrish let it go. He knew Najee well enough to know what he said stuck, even if he was trying to change the subject.
Parrish’s eyes found Kormia again, this time he saw something his eyes didn’t register the first time.
The old head’s hand was clamped hard around her arm.
She was trying to save face, but she was in distress.
He didn’t even hang up the phone with Najee when he started crossing the street.
He was moving faster than he realized, hands loose at his sides, but ready.
The old head jerked her again, voice raised and ugly. “You the second young bitch, that thought she was gonna use me for my paper and not give me nothing in return. Your home girl Jamila should’ve told you what I did to her friend when that bitch tried to run a similar game.”
Kormia tried to pull away, “Cleo, relax. I said I was meeting you—”
“You not going nowhere. You owe me bitch.” Parrish’s chest tightened. Not because she was in some messy shit again. But because she looked afraid. And that did something to him. “Ayo,” he said, voice low. “Let her go.” The old man turned, face twisted, speech slurring from the liquor.
“Mind your business, youngblood” this here is a private matter.”
“O.G., I hear you,” he said, voice low, “but respectfully… I’m not asking again.”
One of the older men held his hands up, attempting to de-escalate the situation.
“Cleo, let that gal go. Earl got some working girls headin’ to the hotel right now.”
“Nah,” Cleo barked, gripping Kormia tighter.
“I ain’t payin’ for no more pussy tonight.
This bitch gon’ give me what I paid for — what I been paying for.
” Parrish felt his anger climb, slow and hot, the longer he looked at the man’s hand on her.
His jaw tightened. “I asked you to let her go,” Parrish repeated, voice calm in a way that made it even more dangerous.
Cleo turned, cocky, and venomous. “Or what, lil’ nigga?
” Parrish didn’t shift. Didn’t blink. He slid his hand to his hip, fingers steady, and pulled the Ruger free, the full-size one, big and black and heavy in his palm.
He didn’t raise it theatrically. He pressed the barrel to Cleo’s forehead with a motion so quiet it landed like the final word.
“Or I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off,” Parrish said, flat as a verdict.
Time folded. The laughs died. Cleo’s swagger collapsed into raw, blinking panic.
The other men froze, their eyes flicking from the gun to Parrish’s face, any drunk bravado evaporated, replaced by the cold calculation of men who’d suddenly realized they misread the room.
“Aye, man, we don’t gotta take it there,” one stammered, voice thin.
Cleo’s hand dropped from Kormia almost instantly.
When their eyes met, Parrish saw something he hadn’t seen in her all night, fear.
“Go wait for me in the car,” Parrish said, without taking his eyes off Cleo. He pressed the barrel a little harder as he spoke, just so the point landed the way he needed it to.
He stepped back finally, turning toward the other men. “Y’all good?”
“Yes” they all said in unison. Before quickly grabbing the Cleo nigga by his arm, and dragging him away fast, disappearing down the block. Parrish watched them scurry their old asses down the street like roaches. Luckily the street was empty and there were no witnesses.
It had been a minute since he lost his shit like that.
He didn’t even know he was still capable of that type of anger.
The last time he had been that angry, was when he got the call his twin brother was murdered.
Parris had been the only one, he had ever crashed out about.
Parrish didn’t even crash out about street shit.
He always maintained a certain level of decorum and level-headedness, especially when he carried out his duties.
Still, he hated that her, of all people could invoke that level of response from him.
It was reckless, messy and completely out of character.
He took a deep breath before he finally made his way to the car.
Parish dropped into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and gripped the wheel.
His knuckles were still tight, pulse still loud in his ears.
He hated that part of himself. The switch.
The way it went dark so fast. One second, he was calm.
The next, he was a trigger-pull away from putting a man’s brains on the sidewalk.
And for what? Messy Mia. Who was probably running the same game on another old dumb nigga somewhere in the city.
Beside him, Kormia sat silent, arms crossed tight.
Not slick, not loud. Just staring out the window like she saw a ghost.
The quiet pricked at him, turned his adrenaline into irritation.
“You aint got nothin’ to say?” His voice came sharper than he meant.
Her head snapped toward him, eyes flashing.
“What you want me to say?” Parish cut his eyes at her.
“I don’t know, maybe start with, why you was over there all night with them old niggas anyway. Don’t tell me you fuckin’ one of them.”
“No,” she snapped back quick. “Then why was he on ten like that? You must’ve told him somethin’. Promised somethin’. Had him thinkin’ he had a chance.” Parish didn’t let up, anger still burning in his chest. “I almost killed a man.” Her whole body snapped toward him, voice climbing.
“First of all, I didn’t ask you to do shit. Second, I ain’t never fucked no nigga for nothin.’ That old nigga wasn’t getting no koochie from me—just ‘cause he spent a few racks.”
She jabbed a manicured finger at her own chest. “I had it handled.” Parish barked out a humorless laugh, eyes still locked on the road. “Handled? Looked to me like he was handling you.”
“He wasn’t handling shit,” she spat back, before he looked at her and shook his head.
“So, you ain’t even just messy, you a fucking liar too.” Kormia’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me?” Her lips pressed tight, breath hot through her nose. “Boy, you got me fucked up. Don’t ever confuse me with any of those hoes you know, Kormia brown ain’t never had to sell no pussy.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he replied as their eyes met.
“That pussy looked like it was on sale to me.” The car went quiet again, heavy with everything unsaid.
Parish clenched the wheel harder, jaw locked.
He hated the part of him that had gone for his gun.
Hated how close he’d come to pulling it.
But what he hated more was that bruise blooming ugly across her arm where that old nigga had gripped her up.
She was trying to act unbothered, but he saw the way her mouth tightened each time she rubbed it.
Saw the flinch she couldn’t hide. “Stop touching it,” he said, voice low, cutting through the silence as he shifted the truck into gear.
She froze, caught, then yanked her hand back like he’d burned her.
“Stop talking to me,” she said.
Parish kept his eyes on the road, knuckles flexing against the wheel.
“All im saying is, some wounds get worse the more you pick at ‘em. And that bruise already look nasty as fuck.” Kormia rolled her eyes, leaning against the window. “So what, you a doctor now?” she responded annoyed. “Nah.” His tone stayed even. “But I know pain when I see it. And you ain’t gotta make it worse just to prove you tough.” Her head whipped toward him, eyes flashing again, but the comeback never left her lips.
The car hummed with tension, and for a second the only thing between them was the truth neither of them wanted to name, that he cared enough to notice her pain.