“You didn’t have to.” I looked up at the ceiling, fighting the tears threatening to fall. “We just got past this, Cash. I’m not about to do this back and forth.”
He caught my arm as I turned to walk away.
“Jas—don’t do that.” His voice softened.
“You’re insecure about a nigga that’s a non-factor. If that’s where we’re at, maybe I need to go back to my place.”
“Nah. We’re going home together,” he said.
I wanted to scream. He reached out and pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me. I let myself melt into him—like being this close might quiet the noise in my head.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he said against my temple. “I don’t like that shit. He knows what he’s doing, pushing up on you to get a reaction outta me. It’s not insecurity, it’s about respect.”
I nodded, resting my head against him. I heard him, but his words did nothing to settle the knots twisting in my gut.
Marcus could ruin everything with one tap—and Cash didn’t even know.
He kissed my hair and held me tighter like it was settled.
How could I make this disappear without blowing up in both our faces?
CHAPTER18
MARCUS STOKES
“What you knowabout Money’s girl?” I asked Kyree.
We were at his spot, going over some last-minute shit before hitting one of BC’s stash houses. I didn’t need anything from them. We had more than enough from our own suppliers, but it was time to see if Kyree was really built for this. He was going against the people he’d been riding with since he was fifteen. The nigga talked real tough, and tonight would show me if he could hold his weight as my second down here.
He took a long pull from the blunt, cheeks puffed out before letting the smoke out through his nose. “Not much,” he said, passing it to me. “Just heard she’s some nurse bitch.”
If I wasn’t trying to keep my connection to Jasmine quiet, I’d beat this nigga’s face in with my gun. Jasmine wasn’t some bitch, even if her head was a little twisted right now. She didn’t deserve to be talked about like that by some young dude with no clue who he was running his mouth on.
Still, I couldn’t wrap my head around how she went from me back to Money practically overnight. The math wasn’t mathin’. I really thought I was close to getting her back.
The night I met her at Donny’s kickback, I knew Jasmine was different from any other female I’d dealt with. She was beautiful, smart, solid—real wifey material. I felt like I could breathe around her—really be myself. But back then, I was just a corner boy out in Queensbridge, trying to get put on while she was focused on nursing school. What future could we have had for real?
So nah, I wasn’t mad when she broke up with me. Shit hurt, but I held no ill will toward her. She stayed on my mind, though. I never stopped thinking about her, not once. I kept hustling and moving up the food chain, telling myself I’d spin the block on her when I had something real to offer. I wasn’t trying to be some hood nigga with lofty dreams. I wanted to build something with her.
That RICO charge almost took all of that away from me. But prison turned out to be a blessing in a weird way. Shit broke me down and built me back up stronger, smarter. I learned more behind those walls than I ever did in the streets.
I had to put a couple niggas in the ground along the way. But that was the cost of building the life I wanted. It was the price I was willing to pay for her.
Everything I did was for Jasmine—to get her back where she belonged by my side. She was my soulmate. No one was gonna take that away from me. I thought about her every day I was in that concrete box, not on somethe one that got awaytype shit, but about what we had and what we were supposed to be.
I needed her on me permanently. I found one of the best tattoo artists on the yard and had him ink jasmine flowers down my arms and across my chest. It wasn’t that cheap, dirty, prison ink. My boy hooked me up with detailed professional-grade work. The flowers wrapped around my older tattoos, blooming over angels and scriptures like they were always meant to be there. It took five sessions, and I made sure I blessed his books to show my gratitude. Now Jasmine would forever be part of me, claimed in ink.
These other niggas inside were fighting for scraps, trying to stay alive, and whole time I was learning how to build. The OGs put me on to how the real bosses move. They put me on with their suppliers, taught me how to clean money, and how to make the system bend in my favor.
Shout out to my lawyer. After years of digging—and paying niggas off—he figured out that the Feds used illegal wiretaps. That technicality gave me a second chance. I might’ve been gone for ten years, but the day I stepped out those gates, I felt it in my bones—God was giving me a second chance. And this time, wasn’t shit coming between me and what’s mine.
Everything was already set up and waiting for me when I got out. I wasn’t ‘bout to be no corner boy again. Fuck that. I was running shit. City officials, cops, DAs—I spent years paying off the right people and lining their pockets. I was never seeing the inside of a cell again.
Ever.
“Why you ask?” Kyree asked, side-eyeing me.
I shrugged, “Saw them at the club the other night. Thought she might be useful.”
