Chapter 15
They didn’t take me somewhere cinematic.
I thought I would be going to an abandoned warehouse with flickering lights. But there was no dramatic basement with chains and monologues.
They took me to a small ass storage unit.
That was the first insult.
The floor was concrete. There were corrugated metal walls and one bare bulb dangling from a wire, as if it were tired of doing its job.
The air smelled like rust, mildew, and old cardboard.
Somewhere nearby, something dripped steadily, water maybe oil, I couldn’t tell, but I could feel that it was damp.
My wrists burned from the friction of the handcuffs. They’d cuffed me too tightly on purpose. A weak as Nigga like Charles did shit like that to send reminders that he was calling shots. Every inch of pain was supposed to say, you’re not in control anymore.
I tested the cuffs anyway.
I yanked slightly. The cuffs didn't budge, but I knew better than to panic. Instead, I rolled my wrist subtly to feel where the pressure gave first.
Once I calmed down and began to count backwards from ten, I realized these cuffs were made of steel. They were cheap and mass-produced. My husband put cuffs like this on me all the time during sex. If I could get them off after I put him in a sex induced coma, I could get these off too.
My cheek throbbed where I’d hit the concrete when they shoved me inside. Blood pooled warm at my temple and then cooled fast, sticky in my hair. I breathed through my nose, slow and even.
Do not rush.
Do not react.
YaYa think, then move.
Zayden’s voice lived in my head like a metronome. Not loud. Not frantic. Just steady.
I hope he was calm and remembered all the times we discussed what we would do if either of us were taken, because if he was panicking right now, everything we built would collapse under the weight of his rage.
They left me alone for exactly four minutes.
I counted in Mississippi minutes.
That told me everything I needed to know.
This wasn’t improvisation. This was scheduled cruelty.
The door rolled up with a metallic scream that vibrated in my teeth. Light flooded the space, harsh and white. I didn’t flinch.
Zayden taught me to never flinch first. Even if these bastards killed me, I would rather go out with dignity than be a weak bitch.
Charles stood there staring at me like he’d rehearsed it in the mirror.
His clothes were clean, and his posture was calm. He had the same smug disposition he used to wear like armor when he was married to my sister. The kind of man who believed composure was morality.
I always fuckin hated that bastard. But I told myself she was safer with a pompous jackass than in Crestwood with the life Zayden and I were building.
My husband and I allowed her to believe for decades that Xavier didn’t truly love her and that she was simply a notch on his belt.
I thought the Baby Bear couldn’t take this life, so I chose for her, and those consequences were way worse than her loving Xavier King.
Charles never loved my sister, and he was using her for a debt left behind by Xavier and Zayden. He played her and planted his seed in her womb to prove a fucking point. Before this was over, Charles would die by hand. He was gonna have to see me about my Baby Bear.
Behind Charles stood two men and a woman.
The men didn’t matter.
The woman did.
She was younger than me by maybe ten years.
She looked like she was in her late twenties, her hair pulled back too tight and her eyes sharp but nervous.
She held a taser like she’d practiced with it, but never used it on someone who mattered.
Zay always taught me to pinpoint the weakest link and exploit that.
I memorized her.
I always memorized the women.
They’re the ones who get left behind.
They’re the ones who crack first.
They’re the ones you bend if you’re patient.
Charles smiled.
“Kenya,” he said, as if my name belonged to him.
I didn’t answer.
Silence unsettles men like him more than screaming ever could.
“You know,” he continued, stepping inside, “I imagined this moment a thousand times.”
I lifted my chin slowly, meeting his eyes.
“Then you wasted your imagination,” I said. “Because this is small.”
That was when he hit me.
Not hard enough to knock me out, but it was hard enough to remind me I was restrained. What a fuckin bitch, I thought.
He hit me again, and this time, my head snapped to the side. Pain bloomed sharp and clean across my jaw. Blood filled my mouth this time with iron and heat.
I swallowed it.
He leaned down close.
“You're still talking like you got leverage,” he whispered.
“I do,” I replied calmly. “You just haven’t realized which one yet.”
He laughed.
Men who aren’t really in control always laugh too early.
He nodded to the men.
They grabbed me by the arms and hauled me upright, dragging me across the concrete like I weighed nothing.
My shoulder screamed when the left side slammed into the metal wall.
My shoulder blade popped, but it wasn’t broken.
The woman watched closely and I saw her chest rise and fall.
She was uncomfortable with the men hurting me, and that slight look of empathy told me she was the weak link.
I made sure to wince. It was less about the pain, more to ensure she saw the loom of pain in my face.
“Put her in the chair,” Charles said.
They didn’t have a real chair.
Just a folding metal one bolted to the floor. Cold. Unforgiving. Designed for discomfort. They shoved me down hard enough that my spine rang like a bell.
Cuffs stayed on.
“Now,” Charles said, pacing slowly, “we’re going to have a conversation.”
I let my head fall forward, chin to chest.
“Zayden thinks he’s smarter than he is,” Charles continued. “And your whore of a sister—”
My head snapped up.
That earned me another hit.
This one came from the woman, but she hesitated.
“Don’t talk about my family,” I said quietly.
Charles smiled wider.
“Still protecting Chanel,” he said. “Even now.”
My chest tightened.
Our whole lives, I protected Channy. I protected her from poverty, from violence, from this life, and from men like him. And now he’d dragged her right to the edge of it anyway.
That was the rage I had to control.
Because rage made men sloppy.
“You really think one man can save you now?” Charles continued.
I pictured Zayden’s face.
“He won’t rush here,” I said. “My baby daddy’s harder than all of you Niggas”
That was when Charles lost his smile.
He nodded again.
The woman stepped forward.
She raised the taser.
“Do it,” Charles said.
She hesitated.
I looked at her.
Straight on.
“Whatever you’re about to do,” I said evenly, “you’ll remember my face when it’s over.”
Her hand shook, but she tased me.
The pain exploded.
It was electric and violent.
My body arched against the cuffs, muscles seizing, vision fracturing into white shards. I bit down hard enough that my teeth ached, refusing to scream.
I would not give them sound.
The shock lasted five seconds.
Five seconds was an eternity, but survivable.
When it stopped, my breath came in sharp, controlled pulls. My vision swam but steadied.
I laughed.
A low, broken sound.
Charles frowned.
“You think this shit is funny?”
“No,” I said hoarsely. “I think you’re predictable.”
He stepped closer.
“You’re not as untouchable as you think.”
I smiled through the blood.
“And you’re not as in control as you need to be.”
That was when he signaled for them to leave me there alone.
Even the woman.
She hesitated at the door.
I caught her eye one last time.
I mouthed Tell Zayden for the restie.
I knew that look. She had empathy. She was afraid of the infamous King brothers. She wanted to save herself and was thinking about switching sides.
Her eyes widened just a fraction. She nodded her head, then the door slammed shut.
Darkness fell fast.
I sagged against the chair, letting my head roll back.
Pain pulsed everywhere.
But pain was data.
And data was power.
Time didn’t move normally in that room.
It stretched and folded in on itself, but I didn’t panic, I counted breaths instead.
In for four.
Hold for two.
Out for six.
Pain lived in the background like static. My jaw, my shoulder, my wrists all ached, but pain wasn’t the point; pain was the language they used when they didn’t have leverage yet.
There were no windows, no clocks, no sound but my own breathing and the faint drip I’d clocked earlier as water seeping through concrete, steady and patient.
They came back an hour later. Maybe two. I knew because the cold had settled into my bones in layers first skin, then muscle, then the quiet ache that made people talk just to hear themselves speak.
Three people came to make sure I was still restrained.
But of the three people who came, Charles did not.
Good I thought. I can get the fuck out of here. The woman came in first.
Her name was Denise. I heard one of the men speak to her affectionately.
She wore cheap boots and a jacket that didn’t quite fit right, sleeves pushed up like she wanted to look tougher than she felt. She didn’t meet my eyes right away. People who avoided eye contact were either cruel or conflicted.
Denise was definitely conflicted.
Behind her were the same two men.
Denise cleared her throat.
“You need water?”
Neutral question.
I lifted my head slowly.
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”
I wasn’t mean or harsh the way I was with Charles that alone threw her off.
She nodded to one of the men. He handed her a bottle. She hesitated—then crouched and held it to my mouth herself.
Close enough.
Her hands shook.
I drank slowly, deliberately. Let the silence stretch. Let her feel responsible for filling it.
“Your wrists are bleeding,” she said finally.
I looked down like it was the first time I’d noticed.
“Oh,” I said. “That happens when men confuse control with pressure.”
Her jaw tightened.
She capped the bottle and stood too fast.
“Don’t talk,” she said.
I nodded.
“I won’t,” I replied.
She frowned.
That was the first crack.
They left again.
The next time she came in by herself, she took one of my handcuffs off. I could have knocked her out with one hand, but I decided not to. There was no telling who was outside that door.
Her letting my wrist out told me something important.
Charles wanted me to be functional, which meant they needed something from me. They weren’t going to kill me; they needed me alive.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
I began to hope Zayden wasn’t rushing but was thinking critically and calmly.
I hoped my brother-in-law X wasn’t offing Niggas, Zay nearly broke without his brother and
Chanel—.
My chest tightened.
That was a dangerous thought.
Chanel wasn’t built for this yet. Not the way I was. Not the way I’d had to be since I was a teenager raising myself in the shadows of men who took more than they gave.
If she got pulled into this…
No.
I cut the thought off.
Fear for other people was how you lost yourself.
I focused on Denise.
On the rhythm of her footsteps when she came back the third time.
Her footsteps were getting faster, which told me she was getting agitated.
She didn’t bring the men with her again this time.
She set a chair down across from me and sat.
I didn't speak, just stared at her.
I let five seconds pass.
Then ten.
Then I spoke first.
“You don’t like him,” I said softly.
Her eyes snapped up.
“Who?”
“Charles,” I replied. “You flinch when he says your name.”
Her nostrils flared.
“You don’t know shit about me.”
“I know you didn’t grow up planning to hurt women for men who don’t see you,” I said. “And I know you think you're deeper than you are.”
It got silent, and the room felt heavy.
She leaned back.
“You always this mouthy?”
“Only when I’m assessing variables,” I replied.
She laughed despite herself.
“Variables,” she repeated. “You talk like you think this is a math problem.”
“It is,” I said. “Every system is.”
She studied me.
“You don’t look scared.”
“I am,” I said honestly. “Just not of you.”
That landed.
She shifted in her seat.
Her gaze hardened.
“You think you’re better than me.”
“No,” I said. “I think you’re still salvageable.”
That pissed her off.
Good.
Anger was closer to action than fear.
She stood abruptly.
“Don’t get it twisted,” she snapped. “You don’t run shit in here.”
“I know,” I said calmly. “That’s why I’m not trying to.”
She paused at the door.
“What do you want?” she asked.
There it was.
The opening.
“A phone call,” I said. “One minute. I don’t have to do the talking; you can talk for me.”
She scoffed.
“You’re out of your damn mind.”
“Probably,” I agreed. “But my phone call is the only way this doesn’t end with bodies and indictments. I’ll make sure you make it out alive.”
She stared at me.
“You threatening me?”
“No,” I said. “I’m informing you my husband will come for me with his soldier which side of this are you going to be on?”
She left without answering.
I exhaled slowly.
That was fine.
Seeds took time.