I froze. Literally stopped breathing for a second. The lights popped on and everybody was there—everybody. Nia and Amina, Pierre, Jules, the kids, Noles, even Saint and Evie. Balloons floated near the ceiling, streamers danced in the air, and the smell of baked macaroni, garlic butter crab legs, and strawberry cake hit me all at once. But what got me the most was seeing Evie and Saint standing front and center like they'd been waiting on me. Emotion flooded my chest, and I pressed my hand over my heart, trying to keep it together. "Y'all really did this for me?" I asked, blinking rapidly to keep my lashes from falling off. Nia ran over first, wrapping me in a tight hug. "Happy Birthday, Chi. Told you we had you."
"You better not cry," Amina added, sliding me a flute of champagne before handing Juste a look like you did good. I bent down to hug the kids, kissing little Jezel on the cheek while Jules tried to keep Juelz from knocking over the cake table. That's when Saint stepped forward, all cool in a linen shirt and gold chain, holding out his arms. "Happy Birthday, Chiana."
"Thank you," I smiled, hugging him gently. Evie wasn't far behind, her wine glass in hand, eyes already squinting at me like she was about to start. And she did. "Chiana, why you got to wear this little knit outfit? I just don't understand it. Ain't you cold?" I laughed, stepping into her side-hug like we'd done this a hundred times before. "Ms. Evie, you keep talkin' about my clothes, I'ma start thinkin' you want a lil' taste."
That made Saint chuckle deep and low from the chest, and even Pierre started cackling. Evie rolled her eyes like she always did but smiled anyway. "Girl, please. Ain't nothin' you can do for me. I wouldn't have you." She paused, eyes softening slightly. "But... Happy Birthday." It was the closest I'd ever get to a real compliment from her, and that was enough for me. Juste slipped his arm around my waist, kissing my temple. "Told you we wasn't done celebratin'." I leaned into him, feeling the warmth of the moment
JUSTE
Chiana's moans bounced off the laundry room walls, loud and unfiltered, like music meant for me and me only. I had her bent over that bougie-ass washing machine she made me buy for her birthday—high-tech, chrome-trimmed, cost more than a used car. Worth every dollar though, the way she was squirming on it now. I was on my knees, tongue buried in her pussy, slurpin' and suckin' like I was starvin'. Circular motion, just how she liked it. My hands gripped her thick thighs, holdin' her steady while I tongued her clit like I was tryna draw out a prayer. "Yesss, Juste... baby, right there, right there," she moaned, voice already breaking up.
I sped up, lips locked on her swollen bud, lettin' her grind against my face. Her legs started shakin', knees bucklin'. "Oh shit," she gasped. Next thing I knew, she came hard—whole body shudderin', juices floodin' my beard. Her moans cracked into a curse, her back archin' like a bow string before she went limp. "Nah, I got you," I murmured low, arm wrapping around her waist before she slid off. In one smooth motion, I stood up and pushed into her from behind, slow and deep. That first stroke had both of us groanin'. She clutched the sides of the washer like it was the only thing keepin' her upright. "Mmmmh... shit," she choked out, voice rough like she'd been yellin' at me all night.
I grabbed a handful of them waist-length braids and wrapped 'em around my hand, pullin' her head back so I could see her face. Her eyes met mine in the reflection of the glass cabinet above the washer—heavy-lidded, that smug ass smirk on her lips like she knew exactly how she had me. "Tell me you love me" I growled in her ear, slammin' into her harder now. Her mouth dropped open, breath caught in her throat. nothing came out. "You don't her me? You tryna test my patience?" I teased, voice low, gritty. I was jokin', but not really. She always knew how to push me there—to the edge where control got blurry. "I'm sorry," she panted, not soundin' the least bit sorry.
"Nah, you ain't," I said, smirkin' as I dug deeper, my hand grippin' her hip, pullin' her back to meet every stroke. "But you will be." The washer was shakin' beneath us, damn near keepin' rhythm with every thrust. Sweat dripped down my temple. Her skin was soft and hot, and them scars... I kissed her back between 'em earlier, every mark a reminder of what we'd made it through—and what I almost lost. I reached around, slid my fingers between her legs, rubbin' that clit again. "Cum for me, Chiana."
"oh..god"
"Cum for Juste Baeeby" Her body clenched, breath caught, and just like that, she unraveled again. I ain't even hold out much longer after that—came right behind her, emptyin' myself deep inside, both of us breathin' heavy as hell, hearts beatin' like bass drums. My body slumped over hers, skin to skin, heat to heat. I didn't move right away. Just stayed there, lettin' that moment breathe while I kissed the slope of her shoulder. The same one with that faint scar, still pink, still healin'. That shit did somethin' to me. I finally slid out, grabbin' a towel from the basket nearby and wiped us both down—gentle-like. She was already pullin' up her shorts, mumblin' somethin' about how I always ruin her clothes when the security alarm chirped loud through the house.
"Front door open."
We both turned toward the TV screen hangin' on the wall, that showed the security cam feeds. Pierre's tall goofy ass strolled in like he paid bills here. Chiana smacked her lips and folded her arms. "We need to have a real conversation about everybody and your mama just walkin' up in here like this they spot." I smirked, adjustin' myself in my pants. "Quit fussin'." I kissed her cheek and left her grumblin' in the laundry room, headin' into the kitchen to wash my hands. Pierre was already at the island, sittin' like he been waitin' on me.
"Chiana said y'all gotta stop walkin' in here like y'all got a key," I said, dryin' my hands with a towel as I dapped him up. Pierre snorted, already headed to the bar. "Man, they say y'all be fuckin' all over this muthafucka at any given moment," he chuckled, pourin' D'USSÉ into two lowball glasses like it was water. I shook my head. "Who the hell said that?" Chiana walked through at that exact moment, clothes basket in her arms, eyes narrowed. "Who said that?" she echoed, brows arched .
Pierre burst out laughin' as she side-eyed both of us and headed upstairs. I took the glass from him and tossed it back, the dark liquor hittin' smooth. "So what's up, P? I'm supposed to meet y'all later, but since you here early, talk to me." He leaned back on the stool, ran his hand down his face. "This shit wit' Uncle Saint bein' my pops... us bein' brothers. That shit been sittin' on me heavy, Jus." I nodded, already expectin' this convo. "I know, nigga. That shit fucked me up too. It's one thing to find out family got secrets, it's another to realize you the secret." Pierre rubbed his forehead like he had a migraine. "Shit feel fake. Like, I spent my whole life callin' that man uncle. Now I gotta process he been my daddy this whole time. And mama? Bruh... she knew. Evie knew. Saint knew. Like how the fuck I'm just the last one to know?" I leaned back against the counter, takin' it in. "They all kept that shit to protect they own image. But that don't make it right." Pierre looked down at his glass, swirl the liquor around. "shit hit different. I be wonderin' what all gon' change."
"Nothin'," I said, firm. "Ain't shit gon' change. You was my brother before I knew, and you my brother now. Point blank. And them people who tried to hide it? Let 'em deal with they demons. That ain't on you." He nodded, but I could still see the war in his face. "You really be meanin' that shit when you say it, huh?"
"Every muthafuckin' word." We sat in that quiet for a moment, the weight of loyalty stretchin' between us. "Aight," I said, finally breakin' the silence. "I'ma hit the shower. I'll meet y'all at the spot." Pierre nodded as I walked him to the door, locking it behind him once he left. The sun had started to dip low behind the trees, painting the house in that lazy golden light that made everything feel slower, heavier. I made my way upstairs, my steps quiet over the hardwood. When I pushed open the bedroom door, I paused. Chiana was laid out across the top of the bed, one leg kicked out the sheets, lips slightly parted, deep in sleep. Her hand rested on the folded pile of laundry she probably didn't even realize she left untouched. At the foot of the bed were the clothes I told her I'd been lookin' for earlier—folded all neat like she always did. My smirk came slow, crept across my lips before I could stop it. She always did shit like that—quiet things that meant somethin'. But I couldn't lie... seein' her laid out like that, peaceful, scar and all exposed from the way her tank had shifted in her sleep—it hit me in the chest. That girl was almost taken from me. And while I'd been puttin' in work to make sure that ain't never happen again, I still ain't fixed the damage it left between us.
I exhaled and walked into the bathroom, pullin' off my shirt and tossin' it to the side. The steam from the hot water rolled out the shower like smoke as I stepped in, lettin' it hit my back and ease the tension I'd been carryin' all day. But I couldn't shake the convo me and Pierre had. That shit was still ringin' in my head like a bad echo. The truth about Saint. The lies Vera kept. The weight on Pierre's chest from growin' up thinkin' he was just one of us—not knowin' he was born one of us. That kinda truth'll fuck with a man. Shift the ground under your feet. And on top of that, business was movin' fast. Too fast. With the new development coming in Thiloux, we had legit money pourin' in. Contracts bein' drawn, investors hittin' the line... but that also meant more product was bein' pushed. More risk. More heat. More enemies.
We was buildin' somethin' big—but big always came with a price. I stood there, lettin' the water roll over me, fists pressin' into the tile as my mind raced. We had security to tighten. We had Maseon still out there breathin'. And while Chiana was startin' to look like herself again on the outside, I knew she wasn't all the way healed. Not in her heart. Not in her mind.
I dried off and threw on a clean black tee, jeans, and my chain. Grabbed my burner off the dresser and tucked it in my waistband before lookin' back at her one last time. She stirred just a little, like she could feel me leavin'. I didn't wanna wake her. She needed the rest. But I walked over, leaned down, and kissed her forehead. "Be back in a lil'," I whispered, my voice low. "I love you." Then I turned the lights low, closed the door behind me, and headed out.
_
Pop was seated at the head of the patio table, a slow swirl of smoke drifting up from the cigar between his fingers. Jules and Noles were halfway through a bottle of yak, and Pierre had that usual scowl on his face, elbows on the table, jaw clenched like he was tryna bite through stone. And then there was Uncle Fred. Great-Unc. The real OG of the St. Jean bloodline. He ain't speak much, but when he did—it moved mountains. You could see it in how everybody's back straightened just a little more when he leaned back in his chair. I knew why he was here. Abel.
That nigga's name still made my stomach turn. I stepped through the gate, head noddin' as they glanced up. "'Bout time," Noles muttered, already pourin' me a glass like he knew I'd need it. I dapped up Pop first, then Fred. "Unc." Fred just gave a slow nod, eyes watchin' me close. Always readin'. That old man could read a nigga soul like scripture. I pulled out a chair and sat down slow, leanin' back with that liquor in my palm. "Go 'head," Pop said. "Ain't no reason to circle 'round it." I nodded, jaw tight. "It was me." Pierre's head dropped.
"I pulled the trigger," I said, starin' into my glass. "I ain't hesitate. That bullet went right between his eyes, just like it was supposed to." Fred took a deep breath, then exhaled like he'd been holdin' that shit for decades. "Heard you burned the whole warehouse after," Fred finally said, voice calm but heavy. "Cleaned it."
"Yeah. Clean," I confirmed. "No mess left. Ain't no trail to follow." A long silence fell over the table. "You did what had to be done," Fred said, finally leanin' back. "Abel been poisonin' this family since the eighties."
"The problem is," Uncle Fred said, voice low and cuttin' through the cigar smoke cloudin' the air. "Money still gotta be made and collected out in Houston." He leaned back slow, sippin' from his glass like he was waitin' for one of us to buck.
The groans started almost immediately. "Man, I ain't tryna be in Houston every damn day," Pierre muttered, rubbin' his jaw like the thought alone wore him out. "Shid, I'm tryna save my marriage," Jules added, throwin his hands up. Noles leaned forward, arms on the table, brows low. "I got a girl here now. I ain't tryna move 'round like no flunky." I sat back, arms crossed, eyein' every last one of 'em. I already knew what Fred was gon' say before he even opened his mouth. Niggas was complainin' like we ain't all know what life we was born into.
"Say look," Fred's voice turned sharp now. That no-nonsense, seasoned OG tone. "I don't really give a fuck 'bout y'all schedules or if you gotta run back and forth to Houston every fuckin' day. Do what you gotta do. But that money flow outta Houston?" He paused, lookin' at each of us dead in the eye. "That don't stop. Or else it's a problem—a me problem. And I promise y'all don't want that." Silence hit the table like a gunshot. A thick cloud of tension hovered over us— nobody say nothin' right away, just the hum of the ceiling fan overhead and the low crackle of Pop's cigar burnin'.
"We'll figure it out," Pops finally spoke, his voice steady but worn. "The money flow outta Houston won't stop." He cut his eyes around the table, landin' on each of us one by one—me, Jules, Noles, Pierre—makin' sure we understood it wasn't just a statement. It was law. Uncle Fred nodded, slow and solid, like he'd been expectin' that answer. He grabbed his cane and the half-empty glass of Crown he never left without. But just when I thought he was gon' head out without another word, he paused, turned slightly, and looked dead at me.
"Oh, and Juste," he said, voice low and slick like the devil himself was whisperin' it, "that rabbit you lookin' for—Maseon—last I heard, he out in Memphis, layin' low behind some old connect." My jaw flexed. Blood started pumpin' quicker in my chest, like a switch flipped in the back of my skull. Uncle Fred didn't wait for no reaction. He tipped his glass at Pops, nodded to the rest of us, and walked out the room.
