I gasped, my fingers gripping the sheets. "I—Juste—" Another slap. "That nigga got better dick than me or somethin'? That why you ignorin me?" Oh, he was wildin' now. I tried to shake my head, but all that came out were moans—loud, breathless, uncontrollable moans. He grabbed a fistful of my braids, yanking me up, making my back arch into him.
"You gon' listen next time, huh?" he growled, grinding into me, making my body tremble all over again I could barely breathe. Barely function. And then, his hand slipped lower, his fingers finding my clit, rubbing slow, deep circles that had me damn near delirious. I sobbed out a moan, my nails digging into the sheets. His lips brushed against my ear, his voice a low, dangerous promise. "Tell me you sorry, baeeby." I whimpered. "Juste—"
"Tell me you love me." My breath hitched, my body begging for release. "Say it, baeeby. I'll let you cum."
"I ....." I moaned out but the words wouldn't leave my mouth. "Hmm I can't hear you ?" He continued . "I'm sorry Juste" I groaned out unable to control myself . "What else ?" He rubbed me . "I love you... oh my god . I love you ." I moaned out. my release sent my body shaking going limp, tears streamed down my face involuntarily. He wrapped his arm around me holding me in place as he finished . "I love you too," He mumbled into my back breathing hard .
JUSTE
A week had passed, and I was posted up in Pops' spot, legs stretched out, talking shit with Noles, Jules, Pierre, and LuLu. LuLu was the face of the legit money, the one who handled the big establishments and kept the heat off us. He ain't like getting his hands dirty, but he knew how to make our businesses look clean. Pops had made the decision to let Maseon live—something I still wasn't too happy about. Instead of wiping his ass off the map, we put him to work, shipping his ass to Houston to move money through our businesses down there. Pops swore the nigga would thrive, said he had a hustler's spirit if he just had the right structure.
I ain't buy all that, but I wasn't about to go against Pops. Today was Maseon's first deposit. We were waiting on him to show up, and I was already itching to see if the nigga would fold. If he decided to run, I was going to find him personally. My phone rang, the screen lighting up with Chiana's name. I smirked, bringing it to my ear. "Wassam baeeby?" I answered smoothly.
Her voice came through the line, soft, playful. "I miss youuu. “I chuckled. She'd gotten real clingy lately, but I wasn't complaining. Across the room, Jules snorted. "Check this fuck nigga out," he said to Noles and Pierre.
I ignored them. "Miss you too. What you got goin'?" I could hear her moving around, the faint clinking of dishes in the background. "Nothing, just sitting at home. Bored. I cooked." I grinned. "Yeah? What you make?"
"Just fried some chicken and yellow rice."
"Mm. Look at you, tryna keep a nigga fat." She laughed. "I mean, you don't seem to be complaining when you clean the plate." Jules made a fake gagging noise. "Man, hang up the damn phone. Ain't nobody tryna hear you cupcakin'."
I flipped him off, still focused on Chiana. "Is it a late night for you tonight ?" she asked. "Yeah, probably ," I admitted. "mm Okay . Just call me later I guess." She mumbled before we ended the call . I could hear the shift in Chiana's tone before we ended the call. She ain't say much, but I knew her well enough to catch that little drop in her voice. She didn’t like that I was out late. I rubbed my chin, exhaling slow. I'd call her when I could. She knew what this life was—she just didn’t like when it started creeping into our time.
The door creaked open, and Maseon walked in, a duffel bag in hand. His eyes locked onto mine, and the nigga had the nerve to smirk like he had a death wish. This fuck nigga wanted me to push his shit back. I watched him as he made his way inside, his stride easy, cocky. Like he was testing the waters, seeing how far he could take shit. He dapped up Pierre, nodded at Noles, then turned to me. "Juste, what up? How Ana? ...My bad, Chiana."
That smirk grew. Oh, this nigga was playing with me.
Before I could even think twice, I was on my feet, my Glock pulled, the safety off, barrel aimed dead between his eyes. The room got quiet as fuck. "Fuck nigga, you fuckin' wit me?" My voice was even, but the rage in my chest was climbing quick. Maseon ain't flinch. "Come on now, Juste," he said smoothly, his smirk still sitting there, pissing me the fuck off. I took a step forward, finger resting heavy on the trigger. "Say somethin' else slick." My voice was low now, lethal. "Go 'head. I dare you."
A chair scraped back. "Aight, aight, aight!" Pops' voice boomed through the room. His heavy hands clapped against my shoulder as he stepped between us, pushing the gun down. "Ju, get that fuckin' gun from him," Pops snapped, his eyes slicing over to Jules, who stood back watching the whole thing unfold with his arms crossed. Jules let out a long breath before reaching for my wrist, pushing my gun down further.
"Aight now," Pops continued, his voice sharp as he cut his glare to Maseon. "And you, motherfucka. Quit fuckin' with him and grow the fuck up." Maseon put his hands up, still too damn smug for his own good. "I was just asking about her. No harm in that, right?" I jerked forward again, but Jules pressed a hand against my chest. "Nah, let him say one more dumb-ass thing," I muttered, my jaw tight. Maseon shrugged. "Damn, can't even ask about old friends no more?"
"Nigga, she ain't your fuckin' friend." My voice was so cold the temperature in the room damn near dropped. Maseon chuckled like he was trying to brush it off, but I seen the tension in his shoulders.
Pops pinched the bridge of his nose. "I ain't got time for this shit. Is my money in that fuckin' bag?" Maseon dropped the duffel onto the table. "Yeah. All there." Pierre and Noles stepped forward, unzipping the bag and thumbing through the stacks of crisp, rubber-banded hundreds. Noles nodded. "It's here." Pops clapped his hands together once, signaling the end of that bullshit. "Good. Now, get the fuck out. I'll let you know when it's time for the next drop." Maseon grabbed his shit and dipped.
I was still pissed. Jaw clenched, fists balled up on the table. My trigger finger was still itchin'. The only reason I ain't unload on that nigga was outta respect for Pops. "Juste, sit the fuck down. Shit! Relax!" Pops exhaled sharply, shaking his head. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to relax. My grip on the gun was too tight, like my body was still ready to react. Finally, I clicked the safety back on and shoved it into my waistband before dropping into a chair.
Pops leaned back, taking a long pull from the blunt tucked behind his ear before lighting it up. He studied me through the smoke, his face hard but tired. "You gon' have to learn how to control that temper," he said, exhaling slow. "You can't solve all your problems with that damn gun." I wasn't trying to hear none of that shit. Jules was grinning. Knew he was about to say something slick before his ass even opened his mouth. "You know that boy head get fuzzy when he in love. He become all about dat pistol play," Jules chuckled, shaking his head. Pierre snorted. "Nigga aint got no understanding when it comes to Chiana."
"nobody asked y'all niggas for input," I muttered, leaning back in my chair. "You acting like we wrong," Noles added, smirking. "You love that girl."
"Ain't that the fuckin' truth," Jules said, laughing. Pops exhaled again, tapping ash into a tray. "Love is a weakness in this business, son. But it ain't gotta be a liability if you handle shit right." I nodded once. I already knew that. What Maseon ain't know was that I wasn't just mad about him running his mouth. I was pissed that he thought he could even speak on Chiana. That was the real problem. "Business is business," Pops continued, rubbing his chin. "But you got a blind spot, Juste."
I squinted at him. "What that mean?" It means," Pops said, leaning forward, "I ain't worried about your ability to protect her. I know you will. I'm worried about how far you'll go. You let emotion run shit, you liable to get reckless. And reckless niggas don't last long." That hit. silence passed. My jaw flexed as I exhaled slow. I felt Jules' stare on me, like he was waiting for me to react. Pierre and Noles stayed quiet, letting Pops talk.
"I ain't gon' tell you how to run your relationship," Pops continued. "But you best figure out how to balance this shit. You can't run an empire and let a woman be the thing that make you stupid." I nodded, rubbing my palms together. "I hear you, Pops." He studied me for a second longer, then leaned back, taking another pull from his blunt.
I received a text with 911 in a group chat with Jules it was mama. I raised my eyebrow looking across at Jules as he stared back at me . He told pops that we had to go and see about something before we left . I hopped in the truck with him as we drove away from the house.
Jules exhaled sharply as he turned the wheel, his face set in frustration. "Man, I already know this some bullshit. Every damn time she text like that, it's behind some cards, dice, or a table she ain't have no business sittin' at." I gripped the edge of the seat, rubbing a hand down my face. This shit was not new. Mama had a fucked up gambling habit that had gotten out of control over the years. It wasn't just some weekend casino trip kinda shit—she was deep in it. We'd paid off more debts than I could count, but she always found her way back. And worst of all, she ain't never just owe the Alley. She always owed somebody. The wrong kind of somebody.
"She supposed to be at the Alley?" I asked, watching the lights of the city flicker as we cut through the streets. "Nah," Jules muttered, gripping the wheel tighter. "She at the back room at Luxor's."
I sighed, shaking my head. Fucking figures. Luxor's was a high-stakes, cartel-affiliated gambling spot. Not the kind of place you just walked into to have a good time—you either came to win big, or you left in debt to some very serious motherfuckers.
Jules pulled into a lot behind the club, cutting the engine. I sat there for a second, jaw clenched, rubbing the back of my neck. "You wanna go in first, or you want me to?" Jules asked, cracking his knuckles. I let out a long breath. "We both goin' in. I ain't lettin' this shit drag out all night." The club was dark, smoky, and filled with the kinda niggas you didn't wanna owe money to. We walked past security without a check. The St. Jeans didn't run Luxor's, but our name held weight in every high-stakes room in this city. The back room was sectioned off, private, only meant for serious gamblers.
