Chapter 3 #2
“Since I realized nobody was going to save me and my siblings,” I said.
That earned silence.
I traced a finger along one of the routes.
“This campus,” I explained, “is just the beginning. It’s clean. It’s controlled. It gives us cash flow without noise.”
“And Crestwood?” he asked.
“That’s where we scale,” I replied. “But not the way you think.”
He leaned closer, his knee brushing mine.
I didn’t move.
I didn’t acknowledge it.
“That trucking company your cousin runs?” I continued. “It’s a liability.”
His brow furrowed. “How do you know about that?”
“Because I pay attention,” I said. “And because family businesses get sloppy.”
He grunted. “True.”
“I already have access to two independent freight routes,” I went on. “Drivers who don’t ask questions because they don’t know enough to ask.”
Zayden whistled low. “You telling me you already got a cover set up?”
“Yes.”
“And distribution?”
I slid another page toward him.
“These runners,” I said. “They think they’re moving favors. Not product. They don’t know who supplies them. They don’t know where the money goes.”
He scanned the list, nodding slowly.
“You're insulated, I see,” he said.
“I prefer protected.”
He looked up at me then, gaze lingering longer than necessary.
“You always this thorough?”
“Only when it matters.”
We worked like that for hours.
Just two minds colliding, refining, adjusting. He challenged my assumptions. I poked holes in his instincts. We argued about percentages, timing, and exposure.
At some point, he pulled his shirt back off, heat settling in the room as the night deepened. Sweat traced down his chest when he leaned over the maps, and I had to force myself to keep my eyes on the paper instead of the way his body moved with purpose.
He caught me looking once.
He didn’t say anything but smiled in a cocky way to let me know he noticed me checking him out.
“The runner you have set up on campus,” he said. “You sure they solid?”
“No,” I replied. “Only one I trust is Miles, but even still, you can never be too sure about anyone, but I’m sure they’re useful.”
“That ain’t the same thing.”
“It doesn’t need to be.”
He chuckled. “You cold, Lil Mama.”
“I’m honest.”
That made him pause.
“You know,” he said slowly, “most women don’t talk to me like this.”
“I know.”
“And you don’t care.”
“No.”
He leaned back against the couch, studying me.
“You ever think about what this makes you to me?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “A partner.”
“And nothing else?”
I met his gaze steadily.
“Nothing else,” I said.
The lie tasted bitter coming from my lips, but I was committed to him seeing me as his equal and not just another girl with a wet and tight pussy.
Sometime after midnight, the house grew quiet in that way that meant the city was finally catching its breath. The only sound left was the scratch of the pen and the low hum of the fridge.
Zayden leaned back, rubbing his face.
“You eat?” he asked suddenly.
“No. But I could go for some food.”
He stood, disappeared into the kitchen, and came back with two plates—sandwiches cut in half.
I took one.
That was another thing I liked about Zay. He noticed what people needed without making it a spectacle.
We ate in silence, legs stretched out in front of us, the maps still scattered between our feet like we’d built something fragile we didn’t want to disturb.
“I get the feeling you don’t talk about your brother much,” he said quietly.
I swallowed.
“There’s nothing to say,” I replied. “He’s gone.”
“He’s not gone Kenya. Don’t forget about Niggas just cause they’re inside,” he said. “That’s dangerous,” he added.
“You’re right.”
He nodded, understanding exactly what I meant.
“You serious about those Niggas who set him up?” he said.
“I don’t say things I’m not ready to finish.”
“Okay, I’ll set shit in motion,” he commented.
When I finally stood to leave, my body felt heavier than when I’d arrived, as if I’d stepped deeper into something that would never let me pretend again.
Zayden walked me to the door.
“You coming back tomorrow? I want to talk more about the cover-up companies you wanna clean money through,” he asked.
“Yes.”
That answer surprised both of us.
He stepped closer, not touching me, but close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him.
“You sure you don’t want to be something else to me?” he asked quietly.
I held his gaze, my heartbeat steady.
“No,” I said. “I want to be necessary.”
Something dark and appreciative flashed in his eyes.
“Careful,” he murmured. “That kind of position comes with expectations.”
“I know,” I replied. “I plan for those, too.”
He opened the door for me.
I walked out without looking back.
But all the way home, my hands trembled on the steering wheel from the knowledge that proximity like that didn’t stay clean forever.
And that if I wasn’t careful, wanting him could become the one variable I hadn’t accounted for.
I didn’t sleep when I got home.
I lay in my childhood bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the house breathe around me. My parents were asleep. Chanel was up, reading a romance book.
I envied that.
Not because I wanted her life but because I was asked to protect her innocence, although it cost me mine.
Zayden’s house clung to me in ways I didn’t like. The smell. The quiet. The way he watched without touching. The way he didn’t try to take anything from me, which somehow made the wanting sharper.
That was dangerous.
Wanting blurred lines.
And I didn’t survive by blurring lines.
By morning, I’d decided.
If I was going to trust Zayden King, it wouldn’t be because he liked me, or respected me, or wanted me.
It would be because we shared consequences.
I showed up at his house just after noon.
This time, there was no laughter inside. No music. No women. The place felt sharper.
He opened the door fully dressed, eyes alert.
“You move fast,” he said.
“I move intentionally,” I replied.
He stepped aside without question.
That told me everything.
We sat at the kitchen table again.
Same seats.
Same space.
Different weight.
“I thought about what you said,” I began. “About my brother.”
Zayden nodded once. “I figured you would.”
“I’m not asking you to avenge him,” I continued. “That’s not business. That’s emotion.”
“And you don’t move on emotion,” he said.
“No,” I agreed. “I move on shared leverage. If we do this, we have something on one another, and it ensures loyalty.”
He slid a folded paper across the table.
It included names, addresses, and the faces of twin brothers.
“They set him up,” he said. “Gave statements. Took deals. Walked.”
I studied the page carefully.
“They’re still local,” he said.
He stared at me with a softer expression on his face.
“And you want them gone.”
“Yes,” I said, sure.
He leaned back, fingers steepled.
“They took my brother’s life without killing him,” I said. “I’m just correcting the imbalance.”
Zayden swallowed.
“These Niggas dangerous,” he said.
“So are we,” I replied.
Zayden’s eyes flicked between us, assessing.
I took the lead on logistics. Zayden on timing. I handled surveillance.
I’d already done my homework.
“These two meet every Thursday,” I said, pointing to the map. “Same bar. Same booth.”
“And the third?” Zayden asked.
“He doesn’t go out,” I replied. “Which makes him predictable.”
Zayden smiled faintly.
“You always thinking three steps ahead?”
“I have to,” I said. “Nobody else was.”
We didn’t talk much on the drive.
The city slid past the windows in muted streaks of orange and black, streetlights blinking like tired eyes. Zayden drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting loose on his thigh. Calm. Focused. Like this was just another errand.
My pulse was steady.
That surprised me.
I’d imagined fear would show up first, loud, shaking, undeniable. But fear never came. What I felt instead was clarity. The kind that only came when a decision had already been made and there was nothing left to debate.
“You ready?” Zayden asked without looking at me.
“Yes,” I said.
He nodded once.
That was all.
The twins’ house sat at the end of a narrow street, lights off, porch sagging under its own weight. One of the men lived there alone. That was intentional. Patterns mattered. Isolation made things simpler.
Zayden killed the engine a block away.
We got out at the same time.
The air smelled damp, like rain that never came. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked once and then went quiet. My boots felt heavier on the pavement, not from hesitation, but from awareness. Every step counted now.
Zayden handed me gloves.
They were black and latex.
I pulled them on slowly, snapping them into place.
He watched me do it.
Not like a man watching a woman.
Like a man watching a partner.
“You stay with me,” he said quietly. “Don’t rush. Don’t hesitate.”
“I won’t,” I replied.
He searched my face one last time.
I held his gaze.
The door gave way with a soft crack.
Inside smelled like stale beer and sweat and neglect. The man was in the living room, slouched on the couch, TV flickering light across his face. He didn’t even register us at first.
Zayden moved first.
Fast.
Controlled.
He crossed the room in three long steps and grabbed Brandon by the collar, yanking him upright. The fear hit late eyes wide, mouth opening, breath hitching.
“Z—Zay—” the man stammered.
I closed the door behind us.
That sound was final.
Zayden shoved him forward, pinning him against the wall.
“Don’t scream,” Zayden said calmly. “You already too late for that.”
The man started shaking and looking down the hall.
“Don’t you fucking scream and try to warn Bradly,” I warned.
“I ain’t say nothing—I swear—”
I stepped closer.
Close enough that he noticed me.
That was when his fear shifted.
“You remember Jared?” I asked.
His eyes darted to mine.
“No,” he lied.
Zayden glanced at me.
I nodded.
That was permission.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the zip ties, looping them around the man’s wrists with practiced efficiency. My hands didn’t shake. My breath didn’t stutter. I felt present and grounded.
Zayden went down the hall, grabbed his twin, and tied him to the dining room chair next to his brother.
“You took deals,” I said quietly as I cinched them tight. “You told stories. You walked away and slept just fine after.”
Tears spilled down Bradly’s face.
“I had to,” he sobbed. “The DA said—”
“They always say something,” Zayden interrupted. “That’s how they get you to talk.”
Zayden grabbed Brandon’s jaw, forcing his head up.
He looked at me.
“You ready?”
“Yes,” I said.
He stepped aside just enough to make space.
I didn’t hesitate.
I stepped in.
The weight of the gun felt different in my hand than it had in my bag. Heavier. More honest. I pressed it against Brandon’s chest, right where his heart hammered uselessly beneath bone and fear.
He looked at me then.
Really looked.
“Please,” he whispered. “I got kids—”
“So does my brother,” I said.
The room felt too quiet.
Zayden’s presence was solid at my side, grounding me, anchoring me. I wasn’t alone in this. That mattered more than I’d expected.
I pulled the trigger.
The sound was sharp and final.
The man collapsed forward, weight dead and sudden.
Zayden turned to Bradley, who was whimpering and begging. “No… please man—.”
He shot him between the eyes.
The sight of blood, I didn’t feel sick.
I felt relieved.
Outside, the night swallowed us whole.
We walked back to the car without speaking. Zayden started the engine and drove as if nothing had changed.
But everything had.
A few blocks away, he glanced at me.
“You good?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “But I will be.”
He nodded.
“That’s why I trust you. You honest as fuck and I can fuck with that.”
Trust.
That word wrapped tighter than fear ever could.
When he pulled up in front of my house, he didn’t turn the engine off right away.
“You know what this makes us,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Besties,” he said. “The real kind.”
I laughed, small but real.
“For the restie, ZZ.”
He exhaled, something like relief passing through him.
“For the restie, YaYa.”