The truck fell silent again. Pierre let out a low sigh from the back. "We ain't sayin' don't go at these niggas, Jus," he said. "We just sayin'—she need you too." I clenched my jaw, breathing hard through my nose, but I ain't respond. I knew she needed me. I just needed to handle this shit first. I pulled the truck up in front of the condo, cutting the engine. Jules had been holdin' Jade here since we got her location, waiting on me to come get what I needed out of her. I was eager. Eager to get to her, eager to get to Maseon. Pierre and Noles hopped out, moving quick toward the door. I followed, my mind already made up. Jade was gon' talk.
_
Jade talked, just not about that nigga Maseon. She swear that nigga had skipped town. She gave up something better. She confirmed where Abel was. We pulled up to a grimy-ass warehouse that sat off to itself along the docks—quiet, isolated, surrounded by rusted shipping containers and shadows. The type of place you ain't meant to walk out of. My pulse was calm, focused. All I could hear was the low hum of the engine as Noles killed the lights. Pierre hopped out first, hand on his pistol. I followed, jaw tight, fists clenched.
"Juste, keep your composure," Pops warned from behind me, voice low but firm. It went in one ear and straight the fuck out the other. I kicked the door in, metal slamming against the wall like a gunshot. We moved in like smoke, weapons raised. Abel turned around mid-convo, face caught somewhere between fear and fury. He stood behind a table stacked with duffle bags full of cash and dope. His two guards reached for heat, but Noles and Pierre had 'em on the ground before they could blink.
"Nephew," Abel said with that snake-ass smile, hands raised slightly, like we was family again. Like he ain't order the hit that left Chiana bleeding in my arms. "Nigga fuck you ," I growled, stepping forward, gun aimed dead center between his eyes. His eyes flicked to Pops as he stepped in behind me. "Saint, you really lettin' your boy point a gun at his uncle?" Pops just lit a cigarette and looked off like he didn't even know the man.
"You crossed a line," I said. "You sent niggas after me and mine. You think I'm here for a conversation?" Abel laughed—cold, bitter. "That little girl put you in your feelings, huh? Look at you now. Soft. You always have been Tender bout a bitch. Then again Masson said she had a snapper on ha." That was it. I pistol-whipped his ass across the jaw, sending him stumbling back. Blood spilled from his mouth, but he was still smirking. Still trying to act like he held some power here.
"You gon' die slow," I told him. "Because what you did, That shit don't get forgiven. Not by me." Pierre stepped in, tying Abel's hands with a zip tie before shoving him into a chair. The room was tense, thick with silence and rage. "This gon' be the last time you ever cross a St. Jean," I said. "We takin' everything you ever built... and burnin' that shit down."
Abel looked at Pierre coldly. "I guess you found out this nigga is ya daddy." He chuckled like it was funny. Pierre didn't speak. Just stared. Jaw locked. His chest rising slow but hard. "Nigga fuck that," I snapped, voice hard as steel, pulling the lighter from my pocket. I lit the blunt that had been tucked behind my ear and took a slow drag, smoke swirling around my face. My eyes never left Abel. "Where that hoe-ass nigga Maseon at?"
Abel leaned back against the table, arms folded across his chest like this was some kind of casual conversation "He gone. Out the way by now," he said, cocky, voice smooth. "Nigga had his own plays, wasn't on my payroll like y'all keep thinkin'." I laughed once. Real low. Real bitter. "You really think I give a fuck about your excuses? You called that hit, Abel. Niggas done died. My girl damn near gone. And you sittin' here actin' like you untouchable." He shrugged, pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, and lit it. "I didn't tell him to shoot her. That was personal." That did it.
In one motion I pulled my gun from my waistband again and leveled it at him. "Nigga, every fuckin' move you made been personal. You crossed that line the moment you let that nigga breathe in our city."
"Juste!" Pops barked behind me, but I didn't budge. "Let me handle this," I said, still staring Abel down. "I ain't tryna talk no more." Pierre stepped forward, slow. Quiet. His eyes still on Abel. "Why you ain't tell me?" he asked, voice tight, hoarse even. Abel looked at him with something like guilt, but he masked it quick. "Would it have changed shit? You still would've been a St. Jean. That's what your mama wanted." Pierre didn't respond. He just nodded once. Real slow. That silence that followed was deadly.
"So what's it gon be, Juste?" Abel asked, arms still crossed. "You gon shoot your own blood?" I took one last pull from my blunt, then flicked it to the floor. "Nah, nigga... I'm gon end the war before it spreads any further."
"Juste, Don't pull that trigger ." Pops said stepping forward . I raised my eyebrow . I didn't give a fuck that this nigga was blood . "Pops I told you . I'd burn all this shit down bout her if I had to." I said before firing sending a bullet between Abel's eyes . His body slumped forward, crashing into the table, knocking stacks of dirty money to the floor. The room echoed with silence. Pops didn't move. Just stood there frozen, jaw tight, staring at the man he grew up with bleeding out on concrete. Noles and Pierre were stone still behind me, eyes locked on Abel's body.
I exhaled slowly, smoke from my blunt curling from my lips like steam off boiling rage. I let the silence sit. Let the weight of what I did settle in the room like fog. Then I tucked my gun back in my waistband. "Clean it up," I said flatly, nodding to Pierre and Noles. My voice was calm. Too calm. "We ain't got time to leave trails. Put him in the water." Pops finally found his voice, dragging a heavy hand down his face. "You know this shit gon have to be a discussion amongst all the family?" I turned slowly, letting the silence stretch just enough before my voice cut through it like a blade. "At this point? Fuck the family."
I looked Pops dead in his eyes, my tone calm—too calm. "I'll kill everybody." Pierre and Noles froze behind me, hands mid-motion as they wrapped Abel's body. Jules stopped cleaning the table, his eyes flicking to Pops to see how he was gonna react. But Pops didn't say a word. His lips parted slightly, but he didn't respond. Because he knew.
Deep down, he knew that bullet was long overdue. Abel had crossed too many lines. Betrayed too much blood. And most of all, he'd put his hands—indirectly or not—on my woman. That alone meant death. Pops sat down slowly in one of the metal chairs, rubbing his temples like the weight of the whole empire had just fallen on his back. I didn't pity him. "You get the fuck outta here, nigga," Jules muttered, grabbing a fresh pair of gloves. "We got this. Go see about your girl." I stared at him for a minute, then nodded once.
He was right. I hadn't been to the hospital in days. Not since I found out who was behind it. I told myself I couldn't look at Chiana laid up like that without losing control. Told myself she was safer with me outside hunting the niggas who tried to bury her. But the truth? The truth was, I was scared. Scared to see her hooked up to them machines. Scared she wouldn't wake up. But now, I had no more excuses.
I pushed the door open and stepped into the cool night, my shoes echoing down the alley as I made my way back to the truck. I drove in silence, the only sound in the truck was the low rumble of the engine and the occasional pop of gravel beneath my tires. Streetlights passed like ghosts. My hands clenched the wheel tighter the closer I got to the hospital, jaw tight, stomach knotted . When I pulled into the hospital lot, I sat there for a second, engine idling. My eyes were trained on the front entrance, but my mind was back at that night. The wreck. The gunshots. The blood on my hands. Her hand limp in mine.
I blinked and shut the truck off, stepping out into the dark. The automatic doors slid open as I walked in, nodding at the overnight nurse behind the desk. She looked up, recognizing me on sight. "Hi," she said softly. I didn't respond. Just gave a short nod and made my way down the corridor, the soles of my shoes echoing against the tile. When I pushed her room door open, that familiar sterile scent hit me first—antiseptic. The machines were still beeping. Slow and steady. Her body was still, a tangle of IVs, wires, and blankets.
I walked over, pulling the chair close again and lowering myself into it. Her hand was smaller than I remembered. Or maybe it was just colder. I stared at her face. Even bruised and swollen, she looked beautiful. She looked like mine. "I handled it," I muttered, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. "Abel gone. Pops might not say it out loud, but he knew it had to be done. That's done now. All I want now is you. I'll hunt Maseon down to the death of me." I leaned closer, dropping my forehead against her hand.
My thoughts flashed back to me standing over Abel in that warehouse, it wasn’t rage that had me shaking. It was everything before the rage. It was that flash of Chiana jerking in my arms, choking on her own breath. That quiet whimper she let out when her blood soaked through my shirt. I shot Abel because he made that happen. I shot him because I saw Chiana’s blood on his hands. I shot him because I was powerless to stop what had already been done. And deep down, no amount of bodies would make that shit right.
"I'm right here, Chi. You gotta wake up now. You made me love you, now you gotta stay so I don't lose my mind." The room stayed quiet, but I stayed right there. Waitin'. Hopin'. And prayin' to a God I stopped speakin' to years ago that the next time her eyes opened, they'd find me.
CHIANA
I looked in the mirror of the hospital bathroom looking at the scar on my shoulder, side and left arm. I was out for a week before I woke up. Realization set in quickly what had taken place. Juste at my side along with Nia and Amina. Still I didn't feel like myself. nothing felt the same . I had scars I didn't have before. I would have to go through physical therapy. I was just frustrated with it all . I hated Maseon for what he'd done to me . I hated him even more because it was like that's all Juste could focus on. "This aint me" I sighed before hopping back over to the bed.
On a positive note I was going home today. I heard the door creek open just before I sat down to cover myself . Juste stepped into the room, his brows low, eyes scanning me like he was tryna assess how bad I was hurt all over again. "You know damn well you ain't supposed to be out that bed," he muttered, walking over to help me pull the blanket around me tighter. I let him fuss, didn't say much. I was too tired for another back and forth. My body felt heavy all the time. And truthfully? So did my spirit.
"I'm fine, Juste," I mumbled, settling back into the hospital bed, the stiffness in my shoulder making me wince as I leaned against the pillow. "You not fine, Chiana," he said flatly, pulling the chair up beside the bed. "You ain't been fine since you woke up. You barely talk to nobody. You won't eat unless somebody make you. What's really good?"
I stared out the window, watching the wind shift through the trees. "I feel broken," I finally said. "Like... not just physically. But in here." I tapped my chest. Juste exhaled through his nose, jaw flexing like he wanted to fix it but didn't know how. "You not broken, baby. You healing. It's gon take time."
"Yeah, well, time feel slow as hell when you sittin in it," I said, eyes stinging but I refused to let the tears fall. "And all I ever see is the back of you lately. Or you on the phone with one of your people 'bout that nigga. Like I'm not even here." His shoulders tightened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I ain't forgot you, Chiana. You the only thing on my mind. But I can't rest until I handle this shit. What happened to you—what he did—it don't sit right with me."
"I know. But you already lost sleep, now you losing me too," I said, voice barely above a whisper. He didn't respond right away. Just sat there, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes lowered. "I got your clothes in the bag," he finally said, voice tight. "We'll get you home today. And... we'll talk." I nodded slowly, but in my heart, I already knew we were drifting. Not on purpose. But grief and vengeance had a way of building walls between people who love each other.
I looked out the window as we rode home. He took phone calls the whole ride, speaking in that low, clipped tone he always used when it was business. One name kept coming up—Maseon. Every time I heard it, it felt like someone scratching against my skin. I eventually tuned him out and focused on the trees whipping past the window, the slight bounce of the SUV, the hum of the engine. Nia and Amina had offered to come over, even tried to bribe me with gumbo and good weed, but I declined. I didn't want jokes or comfort or distractions. I wanted him. I needed Juste.
