I sucked in a breath so sharp it felt like I'd been drowning. My body lurched upright, heart beating so wild I swore he could hear it. I scrambled back against the headboard, the sheet clutched in my fists like it could protect me. This wasn’t real. Couldn’t be. How the hell did he even get in here? "What the hell are you doing in my house?" I hissed, pulling the sheets up around me.
He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just sat there, smooth and calm, like this was casual. Like this was his bed. His room. His moment. "Told you I'd be seeing you," he murmured, lips curving into that slow-ass smirk that sent my stomach tumbling. His voice was dark like molasses—too familiar, too confident. But laced with something colder. Possessive. Dangerous. My mind raced, trying to piece this shit together. My alarm didn’t go off. Did I even lock the front door? Had I heard anything? No. Nothing. I’d been asleep. Dead to the world. Vulnerable.
My breath hitched when I saw movement across the room. My closet doors were open—and two men, Noles and Pierre, were inside. Rifling through my shit like they were packing for vacation. Hangers clattered against each other, fabric flying into duffels with no care, no shame. What the fuck?! I tried to move. Tried to swing my legs over the bed, heart lodged in my throat—but Juste’s hand shot out and caught my wrist. Firm. Not aggressive. But strong enough to remind me I wasn’t calling the shots. "You ready to sign that contract, baeeby?"
His voice was almost teasing, like he was enjoying this shit. My lips parted to curse his ass out, but then I caught something in his expression. His gaze dropped—just for a second—lingering on my chest. I glanced down. Shit. The thin satin pajama shirt I was wearing did nothing to hide the fact that my nipples were hard, pressing against the fabric like they had a mind of their own. The matching shorts barely covered anything, leaving my thick thighs exposed. And Juste noticed.
His dark eyes dragged back up to mine, slow and deliberate, filled with something heated. Lust. I hugged myself, trying to ignore the way my skin tingled under his gaze. "I told your ass I wasn't signing that damn contract," I snapped, my voice sharper than I felt. His eyes flicked back to mine, the hunger still there, still burning. "Hm." That was all he said before he reached forward, grabbing me like I weighed nothing, and tossed me over his shoulder. I gasped, my world flipping upside down as my stomach pressed against his broad, solid shoulder. "What the fuck?!" I shrieked, my fists pounding against his back. "Put me the fuck down!"
"Damn, Just," Noles chuckled from across the room. "She thicker den she look." I twisted, trying to catch a glimpse of him, but before I could, Juste's palm came down on my ass in a firm squeeze. I yelped, going still for half a second before thrashing even harder. "Noles, shut da fuck up," Juste muttered, gripping my thigh to hold me steady. "Get the rest of her shit and bring y'all ass on."
What the fuck was happening? This nigga was literally kidnapping me. I started bucking, squirming, trying to twist out of his grip. "Put me the fuck down!" Juste chuckled—low and deep, like I was doing nothing but entertaining him. Then he gave my ass another squeeze, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh, sending an unwanted jolt of heat straight through me. I yelped, a mix of rage and something else I refused to acknowledge flooding my system. "Be still," Juste murmured, carrying me through my condo like I was weightless. "Unless you wanna end up on this damn flo, neck broke."
The casual way he said it, like it wasn't even a threat, made my body stiffen. I sucked in a breath, my heart pounding so damn hard I could feel it in my throat. This wasn't a game. This was real. The humid Louisiana night wrapped around me as Juste carried me out of my damn condo like I was some kind of possession instead of a whole grown-ass woman with her own life. The cicadas hummed loud in the distance, and the heavy scent of jasmine and rain clung to the air, but none of that mattered. Not when this man was kidnapping me in broad-ass night.
The black SUV was parked right out front, sleek and menacing, its tinted windows swallowing up the glow from the streetlights. The second we got to the curb, Juste shifted me in his grip like I weighed nothing, yanked open the back door, and pushed me inside. I barely caught myself, palms hitting the cool leather seats as I twisted around, eyes blazing. "This some—" Juste slid in right next to me, cutting me off, his movements slow and controlled, like I wasn't flailing and fuming beside him.
I didn't hesitate. I swung. My fist connected with his shoulder first, but he barely reacted. So I hit him again. And again. Closed fists, open palms, whatever I could land. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" I screamed, my hands flying. "You out your damn mind?!" Juste let me get a few hits in, like he was amused, his jaw tight but his body unmoving. Then, fast as hell, he reached out, his fingers locking around both my wrists, squeezing just tight enough to make me stop.
I grunted, twisting, but his grip was like steel. My chest heaved, my breath ragged, but he was still calm. Too calm. Like I hadn't just been swinging on him with everything I had in me. "Done?" he murmured, his deep voice a slow, lazy drawl. I yanked at my wrists. "Let me go." He didn't. Just watched me, his grip still firm but not painful. "I ain't lettin' you go nowhere."
I gritted my teeth, yanking again, but it was useless. I wasn't weak, but Juste was strong as hell, his hold solid like he could keep me here if he wanted to. "Let. Me. Go," I seethed, my eyes locked on his. For the first time, his calm cracked just a little. His lips twitched like he was fighting a smirk, but his dark gaze sharpened, something flickering behind it. "You hit me again," he said, his voice low, dangerous, "and I promise you, you ain't gon' like what happen next." A shiver ran through me, not from fear, but from the way his voice dropped when he said it. Like he meant every word. Like he had no problem proving it.
My breathing slowed, my body still tense, but I knew pushing any further wasn't gonna do shit. For now. Instead, I glared at him, my lips parting to curse him the fuck out, but before I could— Pierre and Noles climbed into the front seats, Noles sliding behind the wheel with ease. “You don't wanna knock her ass out?" Pierre mused, looking at me in the rearview mirror. "You didn’ say she was a fighter , Juste."
"Yeah," Juste murmured, still holding my wrists, his gaze not moving from mine. "I just found out She is." I narrowed my eyes. "Where the hell are you taking me?" Juste finally let me go, but only after giving my wrists one last squeeze before releasing me completely. "Home," he said simply, leaning back against the seat like he didn't just say some crazy shit. My stomach twisted. "I am home." I cocked my head to the side. "Nah," he said, looking out the window as Noles pulled away from the curb, the streetlights flashing over his face. "You was home."
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as my brain scrambled for a way out of this. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. But as the city lights blurred past, my condo fading into the distance, I realized something. I wasn't in control anymore. I swear they put something in the damn air vents. One minute, I was wide awake, fuming, plotting my escape. The next? My head felt heavy, my limbs weak, and my eyelids refused to stay open. I fought against the drowsiness creeping in, but whatever it was—it won.
When I finally blinked myself awake, the soft rumble of tires over gravel filled my ears, and my vision blurred as I sat up, disoriented. My body was sluggish, like I had been knocked out for hours, but my heart punched against my ribs as I realized we were slowing down. The SUV slowed, rolling past an iron gate that groaned as it opened, revealing a long, winding driveway lined with looming cypress and swamp trees, their tangled roots half-submerged in dark water. The Spanish moss hanging low added an eerie, almost mythical feel.
And then, the house came into view. No—not a house. A damn estate. A sprawling, home sat at the end of the driveway, its dark brick exterior almost blending into the night. Huge arched windows reflected the moonlight, and warm, golden glows peeked through the cracks in the curtains. The porch wrapped around the front, wide and homey, with towering columns that made it look like some old-money Louisiana plantation house. The SUV rolled to a stop, and before I could get my bearings, the back door swung open.
I barely had time to react before his large hand wrapped around my arm, his grip firm. "Let's go." I snatched my arm back, or at least tried to. His hold barely budged, his strength unmatched against my resistance. "Get your damn hands off me! I can walk!" I snapped, twisting my wrist, my body tensing with every failed attempt to free myself. Juste didn't loosen his grip. Didn't react—not in the way I expected. He just watched me with that same calm, unreadable expression, like he was waiting for me to tire myself out.
Noles, walking beside us, chuckled, shaking his head. "Baeeby girl gon' wear ha fuckin' self out wit all dat fightin'," he mused, his deep voice laced with amusement. I hated how casual they were about this. Like kidnapping me was just another day for them. Like this was just business. "Fuck both of y'all," I shot back, still trying to pry my arm free. Pierre snorted from up ahead, tossing a duffel bag over his shoulder. "Mutha fucka crazy"
I couldn’t get another word out before he grabbed me again—quicker this time, his grip tightening as he pulled me from the truck. "You keep runnin' ya mouth like you got a choice," Juste muttered, dragging me toward the house. The doors opened and we entered the house. My stomach twisted as the doors slammed shut behind us. The inside was just as lavish as I expected—dark hardwood floors, high-ass ceilings, expensive-ass furniture. A grand chandelier hung above the foyer, casting soft light across the space, and the air smelled like rich mahogany and a hint of Juste's damn cologne.
I didn't get to take in too much. Juste was still pulling me, leading me up a wide staircase lined with intricate iron railings, my bare feet barely keeping up with his long strides. "Damn can you stop dragging me like a rag doll ?" I demanded, trying to twist out of his grip. "Bring ya' ass on then ," was all he said. We reached the second floor, then a hallway that stretched longer than I expected, doors lining both sides. He stopped at one near the end, pushing it open before yanking me inside.
I stumbled forward, catching myself before I fell. When I turned around, my eyes darted over the space. A queen-sized bed sat in the middle, covered in white sheets so crisp they looked untouched, and a duvet. A flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall across from it, and to the left, a conjoined bathroom with the door slightly ajar. The room was clean, simple, almost too comfortable considering the circumstances. I spun around, my chest rising and falling with my heavy breaths. "You expect me to stay here?"
Juste leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me like he was studying me. "Yeah," he said simply. "You'll be comfortable." My eyes narrowed. "Comfortable?" I let out a humorless laugh, crossing my arms. "You outside your damn mind. Let me go, Juste. This ain't gon' end the way you think it is." He pushed off the doorframe, closing the space between us. I backed up instinctively, but he kept coming, slow and deliberate, until I felt the cool wood of the dresser press against my lower back. "Oh yeah?" Juste's voice was smooth, low, filled with quiet amusement as he reached out, his fingers brushing against my temple before sliding down, gently moving my braids out of my face.
My breath slowed, catching in the back of my throat. Not from fear. From him. From the way his touch lingered, slow and deliberate, like he had every right to be this close to me. Like he knew me well enough to be in my space . "I gave you a chance to sign the contract," he murmured, his tone casual, almost lazy, but there was something dangerous beneath it. Something final. "You ain't wanna do it dat way." His thumb dragged across my bottom lip, slow and intentional, like he was testing something. My stomach flipped. I should've jerked away, should've slapped his damn hand off me, should've cursed him the fuck out. But for a split second—just a split second—I froze.
His eyes held mine, deep and knowing, his thumb still resting against my lip like he was daring me to bite him. "So now," he continued, voice dropping even lower, "we doing it my way." His scent wrapped around me. It settled deep in my senses, making my thoughts blur for half a second too long. I swallowed hard, forcing my body to move, forcing my gaze to stay locked on his. I refused to let him think he had me. Refused to let him see what that small, traitorous part of me was feeling. "You really think I care about all of that, huh?" My voice came out steady, but my heart was slamming against my ribs.
Juste smirked, his thumb pressing just a little firmer against my lip before he let his hand drop. "Baeeby ," he drawled, stepping even closer, so close that the heat from his body brushed against mine, "Respectfully I don't give a fuck what you care about ." I clenched my jaw, refusing to break eye contact. "Fuck you."
He chuckled, deep and slow, like I was amusing him. "Not yet," he murmured, tilting his head slightly, studying me. "But keep talkin' like that, and ima put so much dick in your back, you gon wish you never said dat." My breath caught in my throat. I hated the way his words sent heat curling low in my stomach. Hated the way his confidence pressed into me, thick and undeniable, like he knew what he was doing to me. Like he felt it, too.
Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there with my pulse racing, my fists clenched, and my mind battling more than just a little bit .
Juste
I moved down the stairs slow, my steps measured, my thoughts somewhere else. Upstairs. She was supposed to be just another business move, another play in the empire we'd been building for years. Numbers. That was it. Money needed to be cleaned, books needed to be straightened, and she was the best for the job. But now, she was in my house. And my mind wouldn't let her go. No matter how much I told myself this was business, I knew damn well it wasn't just that.
