CHAPTER 13
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Quay
Getting out of jail should have felt better than it did.
I had spent all that time in county wishing for that exact moment, thinking the second I stepped back out into the world, I would feel lighter somehow. Like maybe the air would hit different or my chest would loosen up after weeks of concrete walls, cold trays, and too much time to think.
But it didn’t.
Because I wasn’t walking out free and clean. I was walking out into a mess that still needed to be handled.
Samir had made some calls, pulled some strings, and got enough moving behind the scenes for me to get out while the case shifted. Not cleared, not fully, but enough for me to breathe outside a cell while the truth started catching up to Tariq.
And truthfully, that sat strange with me.
Me owing Samir any kind of thanks was never some shit I saw coming.
But life had a way of humbling a man when he needed it most.
The first place I went wasn’t back to the house. It wasn’t to see my lawyer. And it damn sure wasn’t anywhere near the streets.
I went to Victoria’s.
By the time I pulled up, my stomach was tighter than I wanted to admit.
Not because I was scared of her exactly, but because I knew I had handled shit wrong with her for a long time.
Money had always been my way of trying to fix things without really fixing them.
And now that I had all this forced reflection sitting on my back, I could see that clearer than ever.
When she opened the door, her face went blank for a second.
Then she folded her arms. “Well, damn.”
“Can I come in?” I asked.
She looked me up and down like she was trying to decide whether I was worth the trouble. Then she stepped aside.
I walked in and heard the TV on low in the living room. Baby toys were scattered near the couch, and the smell of baby lotion and formula sat in the air. It was regular. Domestic. Quiet.
And for a second, I just stood there taking that in.
Because that should have been familiar to me by now. That should have been a space I knew. But I had stayed distant enough that it all still felt new.
Victoria shut the door behind me. “He napping.”
I nodded. “Aight.”
We stood there in awkward silence for a second before I finally looked at her.
“I came to apologize.”
That got her attention.
Her brows lifted a little. “For what?”
I let out a dry breath. “For how I talked to you. For acting like you ain’t had a right to be frustrated. For making you carry more than you should have by yourself.”
Victoria stared at me like she was waiting for the joke.
But when she saw I was serious, some of that hardness in her face shifted.
“A lot done changed for you, huh?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “It did.”
She looked away first. “Well, you was foul. I’m not gone lie.”
“I know.”
“And it ain’t just about money, Quay. Yeah, the bills matter. The diapers and everything else matter. But that’s your son. Sometimes I be wanting you to care because that’s your baby, not because I had to argue you down first.”
That hit me right where it needed to.
Because again, she wasn’t wrong.
“I know,” I said for the second time, and this time the words felt heavier. “I’m trying to do better than what I been.”
Victoria studied me for a second, then sighed. “He in the back room.”
I looked up. “Can I see him?”
She nodded.
I followed her down the short hallway, and when we stepped into the room, my whole chest tightened.
My son was laid out in his crib sleep, his little fists half-balled up near his face, breathing soft and even like the world had never touched him wrong.
I moved closer slow, staring down at him.
He really did look like me.
That same mouth. That same forehead. That same little frown even in his sleep.
And standing there looking at him, all the excuses I had been carrying felt weak as hell.
I had missed too much already.
Victoria stayed by the doorway while I stood there longer than I meant to. Then I finally looked back at her.
“Can I stay here a couple days?” I asked. “Spend some time with him?”
She blinked. “Here?”
“Yeah. I ain’t trying to start nothing. I just…” I glanced back at the crib. “I want some time. Real time.”
Victoria was quiet for a second.
Then she nodded once. “Aight. A couple days.”
“Good looking.”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t.”
And I meant that.
I stayed there most of the day. Held my son when he woke up. Fed him. Watched him laugh over little dumb baby shit that shouldn’t have made me smile as hard as it did. And for the first time in a long time, I let myself sit in something that wasn’t chaos.
It felt good. Too good maybe. Like a glimpse of a version of life I could have had if I had made different choices.
By that evening, I got the call from Samir.
His voice was flat. “It’s time.”
I didn’t ask no extra questions. I already knew what that meant.
I handed Victoria the baby, kissed the top of his head once, and grabbed my keys.
She looked at me like she wanted to ask where I was going, but she didn’t. Maybe because she already knew it wasn’t somewhere peaceful.
The ride to meet Samir felt longer than it should have.
By the time I pulled up to the spot he sent, the sun was low and the whole area looked dead. Abandoned warehouses, cracked pavement, no real movement. The kind of place where ugly shit happened and nobody asked too many questions about it.
Samir was already outside leaning against his car when I pulled up.
He stood straight when I got out.
“You ready?” he asked.
I looked at him. “As I’m gone be.”
He gave one short nod, then turned and started walking toward the warehouse side door.
The minute we stepped inside, I smelled blood and sweat.
That iron smell hit first. Then the sound. A low groan from somewhere deeper in the building.
We walked through the dim space until we got to the back.
And there Tariq was.
Tied to a chair. Face swollen. Lip busted. One eye already halfway shut. Hands bound behind him and ankles strapped to the chair legs.
He looked up when we walked in and tried to smirk through all that damage.
“Damn,” he said hoarsely. “Look at this little reunion.”
I stared at him.
For all the time I had spent in that cell, all the nights I had replayed everything in my head, all the anger I had been carrying, I thought seeing him like that would make me feel better.
It didn’t.
It just made everything feel real.
Samir stepped forward first. “You got one chance to make this easy.”
Tariq laughed and spit blood onto the floor. “Easy?”
His good eye slid over to me. “This what we doing now? Teaming up with niggas that had you locked up?”
I kept my face flat. “You did that.”
He grinned, but it looked ugly with all that swelling. “Can you prove it?”
Samir didn’t say another word.
He just drove his fist straight into Tariq’s mouth.
The crack of it echoed in the room.
Tariq’s head snapped back, and the chair scraped hard across the concrete.
“Try again,” Samir said coldly.
Tariq spit more blood and laughed through the pain. “You emotional over that fat ass bitch. That’s your problem.”
Samir’s whole face changed.
I saw it happen in real time. That cold control he usually kept over everything slipped just enough to let the rage underneath show.
Tariq kept going because he was stupid enough to think running his mouth would save him.
“You let that fat bitch come in here and take you off your game,” he said, breathing hard. “Since when you okay with lying ass niggas? Me and you been in this.”
Samir hit him so hard the chair tipped and crashed sideways.
Tariq groaned, but Samir was already on him, dragging the chair back upright and landing another punch to his ribs before he could catch his breath.
I stood there watching. Not helping. Not stopping it either.
Samir grabbed a pair of pliers off the metal table nearby, and even I had to look twice.
He crouched in front of Tariq. “You should’ve kept Kales out your mouth.”
Tariq tried to pull away, but there was nowhere for him to go.
The scream that left him when Samir crushed one of his fingers with the pliers was loud enough to bounce off the walls.
“Talk,” Samir said.
Tariq shook his head, gasping.
Samir stood, walked to the table, and this time picked up a box cutter. He didn’t stab him with it. That would have been too quick. He dragged the blade slow across Tariq’s chest just enough to open skin and make blood run.
Not deep. Just cruel.
Tariq cursed and thrashed against the chair.
“You soft ass nigga,” he spat.
Samir backhanded him across the face. “And you sloppy.”
Then he grabbed a bottle from the table.
When I smelled it, I knew what it was before he even poured it. Rubbing alcohol.
The second it hit them cuts, Tariq screamed again, his whole body jerking against the restraints.
I felt my jaw tighten, but I didn’t move.
Because grimy or not, this was the first honest thing that had happened in a while.
No fake loyalty. No street smiles. No hidden hands.
Just pain and truth finally meeting face to face.
Samir crouched back down in front of him. “Now tell me about Markie.”
Tariq breathed hard through his nose, sweat running down the side of his face. For a second, he looked like he might still hold it.
Then his eyes cut to me.
And something in him cracked.
“It was supposed to be him,” Tariq muttered.
I frowned. “Who?”
“You,” he said.
The room went still.
Tariq licked blood from his lip and laughed weakly. “You was the one always in the way. Samir trusting you more. Giving you more. Looking at you like you was next up. That should’ve been me.”
There it was.
All that jealousy. All that hate. All that weak shit dressed up as ambition.
He kept talking, probably because once the truth started coming out, his pride wanted credit for it.