He didn’t need to know the truth.
First thing I did after I got out was hit Donny, her best friend Amber’s older brother. He’d been out the game for a minute but still had his ear to the streets. More importantly, he’d been keeping me abreast of Jasmine’s moves. He’d told me when she’d graduated from nursing school and when she’d passed her board exams. That’s how me and her even met. Donny vouched for me then, and still fucked with me now.
I was shocked when he told me Jasmine was down in Atlanta. But when he added that it was some young niggas down there trying to make some noise? Without a doubt, I knew that was God opening a door for me. I had the money, the product, and the muscle. It was time to expand anyway, and Jasmine gave me the perfect excuse to come down here.
Within a week, I had her routine mapped out.
I knew she’d be at the soul food spot ‘cause I had one of my young boys trailing her that day. What I didn’t expect was for her to be hugged up with Money Banks.
Kyree stayed gassing that nigga up like he was a mix of the boogeyman and the messiah.
“Nothing moves unless Money says so.”
Yeah, aight.
Every king has their weakness. You just needed to be patient enough to find it. When I saw the way he looked at Jasmine—how his eyes lit up when she talked—I realized we had something in common.
She was his soft spot. The same way she’d always been mine.
I knew hugging up on her and letting him know I’d had that pussy before him would get under his skin. I saw how tense he got, how his jaw ticked. That nigga wanted to put hands on me, but he wasn’t about to show his ass in his people's spot. I’m sure they had a real cute chat after I left.
But when Jasmine kept brushing me off and dodging me like I was a fucking bill collector, I knew I had to turn up the pressure.
Fucking up her car wasn’t about scaring her. She just needed to be a little shook up. Enough to second-guess being in Atlanta and getting wrapped up with that nigga. I figured it was a fifty-fifty shot—either she’d call him, or she’d call me. And when we ended up back at my place, I thought I had it in the bag.
The pussy I’d been fantasizing about and jacking off to in my cell for years… it was better than I remembered. Being inside her again felt like everything aligned. I was back where I belonged. I’d won. Her body told me before her mouth ever would.
Then she ghosted me—went back to that nigga like what happened between us meant nothing. Said Money was her man, like I wasn’t her first love.
Like I only imagined the spark reigniting between us. Like it wasn’t fate we’d reconnected. Like she couldn’t see how far I’d come since the last time I saw her. Bought that bitch a new car and she left it sitting in the lot like she was ashamed of it. The fuck did she think this was?
That shit had me tight.
I sent the video to wake her up out of whatever fantasy world she was living in. Jasmine needed to remember what we were. What we still are.
I knew once she saw it, she’d realize she couldn’t just walk away from me.
“You want a dance, daddy?” Poppi purred, slithering into my lap.
I don’t know why they kept bringing her around. She was cute, but smelled like she bathed in that old Victoria’s Secret body spray girls wore in high school—Love Spell or some shit.
“I’m good, ma,” I muttered, pulling on the blunt. She didn’t move, just kept herself parked in my lap, eyes locked on the blunt in my hand like a fiend.
“You good, mama?” I asked, blowing smoke in her face. “Why you eyeing my shit like that?”
She giggled, tucking a loose strand behind her ear.
“Poppi!” Bambi called from down the hall.
Poppi hopped off my lap like twelve was coming and scurried off to the room in the back.
Bambi wasn’t the biggest chick, but she was the one all the girls listened to. She was the baddest too—tall, long legs, beautiful deep brown skin, and a face too fine to be hanging around niggas like this. She danced sometimes, but mostly brought the girls where Kyree told her they needed to be.
She hadn’t fucked with me since the incident with Poppi.
Shorty spilled some liquor on my vintage Jordans. They were deadstock that I flew out to L.A. for. Priceless shit. I blacked out a little and ended up shaking the shit outta her.
Not my proudest moment… but it was the principle.
