Chapter 2
E mon hadn’t planned anything that happened a week ago, but there was nothing he could do about it now.
Besides, he couldn’t stop thinking about the one who had put her life on the line to save his.
He didn’t have any intention of hurting her, but she didn’t know that.
Yet she put her fear to the side to help him.
He appreciated that and wanted to somehow show her that.
He stood in the mirror, glancing at his wound, envisioning her wincing as she poured the alcohol on his open wound.
Only his mother had ever shown that kind of concern for his pain before.
Now here was Blake, a stranger, looking at him like his hurting actually mattered.
He couldn’t get that out of his mind either. Wasn’t even sure if he wanted to.
Simple mistake that turned into destiny. Maybe.
Blake, her name, kept rolling off his tongue. It was easy. It was different. She was different.
Thanks to her care, the wound was healing cleanly.
For someone who hadn’t finished nursing school yet, she had steady hands and knew exactly what she was doing.
She gave him antibiotics and a place to rest. He traced the healing area carefully, remembering how she’d hummed gospel music while cleaning and dressing it, probably to calm them both.
It gave wife. The thought caught him off guard. He wasn’t the type to be thinking about settling down, especially not over a woman he’d just met, but there was something about the way she carried herself.
His phone buzzed on the bathroom counter.
Another message from his cousin Giovanni about the dice game situation being settled.
The shooter wasn’t going to be a problem anymore.
He’d made sure of that the minute he could stand up straight.
But that life, those types of moves and risks, felt different now.
Heavy. Dumb. Reckless. Like maybe he had something more to consider.
Emon pulled on a fresh white tee, careful not to disturb the bandage.
His reflection showed a man at a crossroads.
The gold fangs and tattoos told one story, but the three legitimate businesses he’d built told another.
He’d worked too hard to let street shit drag him backward.
The car washes were thriving, and Be Fed, his community pantry, was making real change in the neighborhood.
That was what he needed to remain focused on, not cracking nigga’s heads in a game of craps because of boredom.
He didn’t need the money, just the rush.
But Blake... she made him want to be better than even that. Something about those big brown eyes of hers saw past his image, past his reputation. She’d taken one look at him bleeding on her couch and saw someone worth saving.
“You need to let that go,” he muttered to himself, running his hand over his fade, but telling himself that was pointless. He already knew he was going to figure out a way to see her again. A woman like that didn’t just fall into a man’s lap by accident. That was divine timing.
The way she moved around her apartment that day, confident and caring, had stirred something in him he’d never experienced.
The urge to protect, to provide, to prove himself worthy of someone like her fucked with his mental.
Each time he closed his eyes, he saw her standing there with that knife trembling in her hand, trying to be brave while probably scared as hell, yet she’d still chosen to help him.
That kind of heart was rare in his world.
He knew better. He knew she was too good for him.
He knew she’d never fuck with a man like him. And for good reason.
However, his mother’s words from Sunday dinner echoed in his head, clear as the day she’d said them: “When you find the right one, Son, you’ll know because she’ll make you want to stand taller, straighter.
Won’t be about impressing nobody. She’ll make you want to grow into the man God already sees in you. ”
The seed had been planted, and Blake Bishop might just be what was meant to bloom from it.
He had a feeling she was, but feelings had led better men than him astray.
Life had taught him to move cautiously, to question coincidences, to doubt anything that seemed too good to be true.
And Blake? She seemed too good to be anything but trouble.
He didn’t need the drama he knew would come with showing interest in a woman like her, educated, family-oriented, with a brother who’d probably rather shoot him than see him near his sister.
But he liked what he saw. More than liked it.
He was feeling whatever this was, feeling her.
For now, that thought alone was enough to keep him smiling.
Now he just had to figure out how to see her again without feeling like he was reaching too high.
Yeah, he’d built something legitimate, but women like Blake didn’t typically give men like him a second glance, at least not for anything real.
She had options, educated men, doctors, lawyers, the type who’d never bled out on somebody’s couch.
Never put her in danger. The type who matched her on paper.
He’d never been a man that doubted himself, but she made him wonder if he had any business wanting more than that one chance encounter with her.
No one had made his heart race like this before.
That voluptuous ass, thighs to match, and the way she moved had him mesmerized.
Those beautiful eyes and perfect brown skin…
she was everything. And even with all his usual confidence, thinking about her saying no had his chest tight in ways no street situation ever could.
Back in the day, he’d been known for more than just his business sense.
He’d been that nigga. The one mothers prayed their sons wouldn’t become and their daughters wouldn’t notice.
Making money was an art form to him; he painted with whatever colors were available, legal or not.
He never cared about that. He cared about not seeing his mother struggle.
That led to a few stints in juvie but never in prison.
He was thankful for that, but his reputation for handling his business and leaving no doubt about what happened when people tried him still floated in the air, making people turn their noses up.
If there was a hustle to be found, his name was tied to it.
Need something? Emon could get it. Want something moved?
He knew just who to call. Want to place a bet?
His odds were always fair, even if the game wasn’t.
Never anything too grimy. He didn’t touch work that destroyed the community, but enough that he knew he owed something back to the streets that raised him.
He’d been young and hungry, using his natural charm and street smarts to navigate a world that expected him to fail, but that life came with an expiration date, and he’d been smart enough to see it coming.
Now he’d flipped those same skills into legitimate power moves.
The same hustle that built his reputation now built businesses his mama could brag about.
The morning crowd at EJ’s Car Wash was steady as usual.
Emon moved through the property like he was born to run it, nodding at regulars and checking on his workers.
Every few minutes, someone called out, “Morning, Mr. Dowlen!” and he’d return their energy.
The respect hit different when it was earned clean.
“Aye, boss, that McLaren pulling up again,” Lavar called out. His manager was good people. Been with him since the beginning, when they were washing cars with just buckets in a parking lot.
“I got it.” Emon grabbed his inspection pad. Some customers required the owner’s touch, and he never forgot that customer service built this empire. Plus, he enjoyed the work. There was something therapeutic about turning something dirty into something spotless.
“Emoney,” Fat J said, stepping out of his car with a smile on his face. “Always good to see you handling business.”
“You know I love this place,” Emon replied to his friend and mentor.
Fat J had been his biggest supporter, and when he wanted to go legit, he knew who to see.
Fat J told him how to get the buildings, how to get the capital, what to invest in, and what not to invest in.
First rule was never invest in a woman unless she was willing to invest in him.
His mind flickered to Blake—what would she think seeing him like this?
Professional, respected, building something real.
A far cry from the bleeding man in her living room.
“Your reputation precedes you now.” Fat J nodded, admiring how the business had grown. “That’s why folks drive forty minutes to get here. You took what I taught you and elevated it.”
Emon’s phone buzzed.
Shawn : Checked around about ya nurse. She single single. No kids. You may have to worry about a hating ass brother tho. Last relationship ended a year ago with some finance dude. You welcome.
Emon shook his head, trying to fight the smile forming. He hadn’t asked anybody to look into her, but his people knew him. He wasn’t the type to sit on shit for too long. Still, this wasn’t how he wanted to learn about her. He wanted to hear it from her lips, know her story the right way.
“Yo, Mr. Dowlen,” one of his younger workers called out. “The donation truck for Be Fed just pulled up at the pantry. They need you to sign off.”
“Lavar, finish this for me.”
Emon headed toward his Charger, keys already in hand.
This was his life now, moving between businesses, building something lasting, trying to make up for past mistakes through present rights.
The hustle was still there, just pointed in a better direction.
Fat J had shown him the blueprint, but he’d built something uniquely his own.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, Blake Bishop’s smile kept playing on repeat. Yeah, he definitely needed to figure out how to see her again because he said he would, and he was a man that kept his word. But first, he had a community to feed.