I flopped back on the bed, wincing at the soreness in my neck. I stared at the ceiling as Marcus’s words looped through my mind.
“It was always supposed to be me and you.”
And by the crazed look in his eyes, I knew that he meant that, and that was the part that shook me.
Ten years locked up had clearly broken something in him. He’d created a twisted fantasy in his head. Hetrulybelieved that I belonged here. His delusion was scary—not because he was angry, but because in his mind, this made sense.
I drew in a shaky breath. I couldn’t afford to panic. I had to keep my shit together. Amber said she’d be back. I just had to hold out until then.
And in the meantime, all I could do was pray that Cash found me sooner than later because I wasn’t sure what Marcus would do if he went too far off the deep end.
CHAPTER24
CASH “MONEY” BANKS
“Can you sit down?”Jelani asked, kicking his feet up on the coffee table in our suite at the Mark Hotel. The nigga was acting like we were on vacation. “All that pacing making me dizzy.”
“Then stop watching me,” I snapped. It’d been forty-eight hours since I last heard from Jasmine, and I was close to losing my shit. Slim had come through and blown up one of Marcus’s major shipments, which put a huge dent in his operation. Snatching the shit would’ve been too easy, and the city didn’t need any more of it on the street.
Jelani chuckled, tossing his phone on the couch. “My nigga, I know love got you acting out of sorts, but you’re the one who taught me—when you lose control of your emotions, you lose control in the game.”
“Love?” I scoffed, even though the tightness in my chest made it clear he’d hit a nerve. “Who said anything about love?”
He cocked his head with a smug grin. “Bruh, you gonna act slow now? We ain’t here because he’s moving in on our shit. We’re here because that nigga took your girl. It’s personal, if this ain’t love, I don’t know what is.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s the principle,” I muttered. “Niggas can’t just push their shit in my city and think that there won’t be consequences.”
“Yeah, aight. You keep telling yourself that,” Jelani laughed. “Meanwhile, I bet your nurse is giving that nigga the blues. Hopefully, Fontaine will have updates soon.”
Fontaine had been glued to his laptop since we touched down. Slim was out in Brooklyn with the Gotham Reapers, sorting out logistics and talking about checking in on some old work before heading back. Which meant, for now, it was just me and Lani.
Jelani clapped his hands, pulling me from my thoughts. “We should go out and get some food.”
“We can order room service,” I grumbled, sinking on the couch beside him.
“Money, my nigga, I love you, but you need some fresh air.” He gave me a rough slap on the back. “Sulking around not gonna bring Jas back any faster.”
He was right, but it felt wrong going out when Marcus had her locked up somewhere.
“C’mon, we’re in New York. Might as well make the most of it till it’s time to knock that nigga’s head off.” He stood and stretched. “I won’t even make you pay.”
“I wasn’t paying anyway. Your bougie ass got me paying for this suite like we’re on vacation,” I said.
Jelani tossed a pillow at me. “Shut yo’ grumpy ass up and get dressed.”
I hated feeling out of my element. I was used to being the one called for favors—not the person calling for one.
I’d hit up one of Pops’ old friends, Creed Dennis. OG Creed was the founder of the Gotham Reapers Motorcycle Club and was as thorough as they came. If anybody knew who had real motion out here, it was him. His son, Creed Jr., CJ, ran the crew now, but OG’s name still held weight.
When we arrived in New York, CJ met us at the hotel and gave us the rundown on Marcus. Word was, he built his crew while he was locked up, recruiting dudes he used to hustle with, calling hits on the outside, and moving weight on the inside. By the time his charges were thrown out, he had a whole operation waiting. Now, he practically ran Queens and Brooklyn. But with the Reapers having a presence in all five boroughs, both OG and CJ assured me they’d keep tabs on Marcus’s people while I focused on getting Jasmine back.
After a quick shower, I threw on black jeans and a black sweater. Jelani had already called a car service, and by the time I grabbed my phone and coat, it was pulling up outside.
I couldn’t focus—I barely noticed the traffic or the small talk Jelani tried to make. My knee bounced the whole ride like my body was trying to channel the tension bottled up inside. Weed wasn’t doing shit to mellow me out—I was a rubber band stretched to its limit. On my mama, I was putting a bullet in the next person who even coughed wrong around me.
I should’ve done more.
Should’ve insisted that Hassan take her to and from work and tightened up security. Maybe I should’ve told her what Marcus had done to that one dancer to spook her. The nigga’s a certified nut, and I still let her brush it off because I didn’t want to be that guy. I didn’t want to control her; I respected her boundaries and independence.
