I sent everything to Dreaux immediately.
Me:Run this plate. Find out who she is.
Dreaux:On it.
I sat back in my seat, finally allowing myself to exhale.
It was done. I had what Vivica wanted. Proof that couldn’t be disputed.
But instead of relief, all I felt was rage.
Rage that I’d wasted two days on this bullshit. Rage that Vivica had reduced me to this. Rage that I’d let her control me like I was still that thirteen-year-old boy she’d sent to prison.
I was better than this. Bigger than this. I’d built an empire from nothing. Commanded respect from men who’d kill for me. Protected the people I loved without hesitation.
And yet here I was. Sitting in a car. Taking pictures. Playing private investigator for a woman who’d never been a mother to me.
The phone rang.
Yusef’s name on the screen.
I answered. “What’s up, lil man?”
“Hey…” His voice sounded wrong. Tired. Defeated. “I was just… I thought we had boxing today?”
The guilt hit like a sledgehammer.
Fuck.
I’d completely forgotten. Too caught up in Vivica’s bullshit to remember the one person who actually needed me.
“My bad, Yu. I had to handle some work stuff.”
Silence. Heavy. Disappointed.
“But we can hit the gym tomorrow,” I added. “After school. I promise.”
“It’s cool.” His voice was flat now. Resigned. “I know you’re busy.”
“Nah, don’t do that. Tomorrow. I’m clearing everything. Just you and me.”
“Okay.”
But he didn’t believe me. I could hear it in his voice. That acceptance. That expectation of disappointment.
Like he’d been let down so many times before that he’d stopped hoping people would show up.
“Yu, I’m serious?—”
“I gotta go, Prime.”
The line went dead.
I sat there staring at my phone. At his name on the screen. At the call duration: one minute, thirty-eight seconds.
Less than two minutes. That’s all the time I’d given him.
A kid who’d looked at me like I was his hero. Who’d said he wished I was his dad. Who was getting his ass beat at school and wouldn’t tell anyone who was doing it.
