Kayla #3
Despite everything that happened earlier, I found myself smiling.
Standing here under the glow of the parking lot lights, looking up at him while he looked down at me, I finally understood why women probably threw themselves at him.
Monclair carried himself differently—no rush in him, no pressure, just a calm confidence that made you lean in without realizing it.
I opened my mouth to say something else when the night exploded around us.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. The sharp cracks echoed through the parking lot so sudden, that my brain struggled to process what I was hearing. Then more shots followed. The sound of screaming erupted nearby as people scattered in every direction.
“Get down!” Monclair reacted, grabbing me around the waist and dragging me toward the side of his vehicle just as another round of bullets tore through the air.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs while we dropped behind the car for cover.
The smell of gunpowder drifted through the night as more shots rang out somewhere across the lot.
For several terrifying seconds, all I could hear was screaming and the frantic pounding of my own heartbeat.
Then it stopped. A set of tires screeched somewhere in the distance as the engine roared to life and sped away.
Neither of us moved right away. We stayed crouched behind the vehicle, listening carefully as the chaos slowly settled around us.
“You okay?” Monclair asked finally, turning toward me. I nodded, even though my hands were trembling so bad, I could barely feel my fingers.
He helped me back to my feet, his eyes scanning the lot one last time before looking down at me again. That’s when my phone started vibrating nonstop. One notification after another lit up the screen.
Daddy: If you want that nigga to keep his life, you got 20 minutes to get my car and yo ass back to the house before I come back and finish the job.
Daddy: You got me fucked up thinking you can play with me.
Daddy: Bitch you just cost me my best fucking tattoo artist.
Daddy: Go the fuck home. NOW.
I stared at the screen in complete horror.
That man had officially lost his damn mind.
My stomach twisted as I reread the messages, each one somehow worse than the last. The reality of what had just happened washed over me.
Yayo hadn’t been bluffing. He had really pulled up and opened fire because he thought another man was interested in me.
When I looked up from my phone, Monclair was studying my face. He knew something was wrong. Maybe not every detail, but enough. A slow laugh escaped him as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“Look, Kayla. A nigga like you. Always have.” He shook his head before glancing toward the direction the shots had come from. “But I can’t be caught up in no war with Yayo.”
His tone wasn’t fearful. If anything, it sounded practical, like a man smart enough to know the difference between courage and stupidity. “While the life ain’t far from me, I’ve made alot of growth as a man. I got a shorty depending on me. Responsibilities. People who need me to come home.”
He looked back at me and laughed again. “As bad as you are, I can’t be getting packed up over somebody else’s relationship problems.” I shook my head because nothing about this felt funny, not one bit.
“I saw the look in his eyes the night I tatted y’all at his house,” Monclair continued. “Real shit, that nigga crazy about you. If I didn’t know it then, I definitely know it now. Judging by the look on your face, you know it too.”
“Yeah,” I scoffed. “Not all crazy is good crazy though.” He’d snuffed out any effects of weed and liquor I was feeling, sobering a bitch right up. I was terrified and beyond embarrassed.
“I’m gonna go,” I said. “Thank you for coming, and sorry for getting you shot at.”
Monclair shook his head. “Take care of yourself, Kayla.”
I nodded before climbing back into the truck.
The entire drive back felt surreal, and with every mile that passed, my thoughts seemed to spiral deeper into the reality of what had just happened.
Part of me was scared out of my mind, still shaken by the sound of gunfire and the realization that things had escalated far beyond an argument.
The other part of me knew what had happened and couldn’t pretend otherwise.
I had tried to call Yayo’s bluff, convinced that his threats were nothing more than anger and possessiveness talking.
Instead, Yayo Bautista had responded exactly the way Yayo Bautista always responded: like a man who was completely comfortable setting the world on fire to protect something he loved and daring anyone around him to deal with the consequences.
The crazy part was the situation only made me respect Monclair more.
The man had every opportunity to be messy and chose not to.
He had every opportunity to pursue something and decided not to.
I didn’t even know he had a child. Truthfully, I hadn’t paid enough attention to learn anything about him until now.
That realization sat heavy on me the entire drive home.
Where Yayo had given me twenty minutes, I made it back in ten.
By the time I swung into the driveway, adrenaline was still coursing through my body.
The front door was already unlocked when I walked inside, and standing in the middle of the living room was Yayo, shirtless, eyes red and low, a glass of whiskey hanging loosely from his hand.
I started fidgeting with my purse strap while he stood there staring at me without saying a word. “Bring yo ass here.” He finished the rest of his drink and placed the glass on the coffee table between us.
“Don’t talk to me like that. You want me to—” The words died in my throat as he closed the distance between us.
“Kayla, stop fucking playing with me.” He wrapped his hands around my throat.
“Do you know what I will do to that nigga? His blood will be on your hands.” His voice dropped lower as he stared down at me. The anger rolling off him felt different than anything I’d seen before.
“You got people out here willing to die over a misunderstanding.”
“You don’t get to tell me—”
“The hell I don’t.” His jaw flexed as he took a slow breath.
“You think this shit a game?” He seethed as his pupils began to dilate. Before I could answer, his phone started ringing, the sound cutting through the room like a lifeline. Never taking his eyes off me, he reached in his pocket and answered it. I used the moment to push away from his grasp.
“Keep playing tough so I can fold yo ass up.”
“Do what you gotta do.”
He laughed a demonic laugh, walking closer to me.
“Kade, now is not a good time. I’m about two seconds away from sending Kayla to meet her maker.”
“Well before you do that, nigga pull up to my house. I got Cazmir and Bree here and it’s some shit you might wanna know.”
“About who?” Yayo’s expression shifted instantly.
“Nigga, find out when you get here.”
The line went dead. For a moment the room fell silent before Yayo let out another laugh. It wasn’t happy or amused. It was the type of laugh a nigga gave when life kept finding new ways to irritate him.
“You’ve been touched by an angel, my love.” He grabbed his shirt and keys before putting his shoes on and jerking his head toward the door.
“Let’s go.”
Opening the front door, he waited for me to walk ahead of him before ushering me outside, giving my ass an aggressive slap on the way. This nigga makes me sick!