I kissed her again, slower this time, swallowin every sound she made like it belonged to me. My mouth moved to her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone, anywhere I could feel her pulse jump under my lips.
She whispered to me then.
Low.
Soft.
In creole.
Words meant just for me. The sound of it went straight through my spine. I pressed my forehead to hers, breathing her in, letting the moment stretch because for once, I didn't need to rush. For once, the noise in my head went quiet. For once, I wasn't angry.
I was just hers.
—
Everybody had their shot glasses raised in the air. Liquor sloshed and Laughter bounced off the walls. We were posted on the bottom floor of the yacht, the part hidden from the public guest. Steel beams. Low ceilings. Polished concrete floors still smelling like fresh sealant and money. The casino sat upstairs, alive and roarin like a beast that had just learned how to breathe on its own.
You could hear it. Chips clackin. Cards snappin. Machines chimin. People yellin, winnin, losin.
That sound hit my chest harder than the bass ever could. I took it in slow. This shit was real. Juste did this. My brudda stood near the center of it all. tux jacket open, sleeves rolled just enough to let you know what ran through his blood. He was smilin, but his eyes stayed sharp. Always countin. Always watchin. That nigga was born for this. "To my nigga," Pierre said, already loud, already half gone, his arm thrown around Juste's shoulder. "My ace. My mutha fuckin' brudda. You takin' this shit to levels I couldn't even imagine." We all lifted our glasses again. "Salute," Jules muttered. "Empire shit," Pierre added. We threw the shots back.
I'd been drinkin since before the doors opened. Could feel it heavy in my limbs, buzzin behind my eyes but my mind stayed sober. Ever since the coma, everything sit different in my body. Alcohol don't slow my thoughts, it sharpen them and made the edges jagged. I reached out and pulled Ayida closer to me, my hand slidin around her waist. She giggled softly when I tugged her in, leanin back against my chest comfortably.
She had on this black lace party dress nothing loud, nothing flashy. It Hugged her hips right. Fell down her thighs smooth. Her hair was pressed bone straight, falling down her back like a curtain, framin her face so clean it made my chest tighten. She looked too good for a room this dirty. Too pure for a room full of wolves.
She tilted her head back to look at me, eyes glossy, lips parted in a drunk little smile. I bent down and kissed her sloppy, unfiltered, mine. She kissed me back before pushin me away lightly, laughin under her breath. I reached down and grabbed her ass anyway, squeezin once, groundin myself. She rolled her eyes. "Hands to yourself" Before I could say shit back "Noles, will y'all show some damn respect," Mama snapped, walkin up on uswith her purse tucked under her arm like she had her pistol in it. Ayida tried to hold back her drunk giggle but failed. I cheesed. "Ma, relax." She cut her eyes at me. "I'll Relax when you stop actin' like a horny dick dog."
Ayida leaned into me and whispered, "I love you." Soft, Just for me. Starin in my eyes Then we moved Upstairs. The casino floor hit different. Lights everywhere. Warm gold. Deep amber. Reds and blacks woven through everything like blood through veins. Velvet ropes. Polished tables. Dealers moving smooth and precise like they were trained and paid good. Money flowed in the air. Stacks being exchanged. Chips sliding across felt. Cards flipping. Security posted in corners, eyes moving constantly, hands never far from their waistbands.
I caught myself with my attention on everything and everybody automatically.
Exit routes.
Blind spots.
Who was armed.
Who was pretending not to be.
My paranoia kickin in. I hated crowds. Hated lights. Hated niggas pretendin’ they wasn’t wolves just ‘cause they put on suits. ‘Cause after them bullets after the hospital I promised myself two things, I wasn’t dyin’ over nobody else’s war again and I wasn’t lettin’ my wife become collateral behind St. Jean business.
Ayida's hand stayed in mine. Her thumb rubbed slow circles over my knuckles like she knew my mind was startin to go there. Shit, She always knew. Juste moved through the crowd like a businessman with his wife on his arm, shakin hands, nodding, smilin for cameras. Politicians. Businessmen.Old money. New money. Niggas with no money and niggas tryna get money. I saw Abdul posted near one of the high dollar tables. Clean suit. Drink in hand. Eyes calculatin. Enzi wasn't far behind him. My jaw tightened. Ayida leaned in. "You okay?" I nodded. "Yeah."
Music shifted. Speeches started. Juste took the mic. As he spoke about growth, legacy, community, investment, my thoughts drifted. To waking up and realizing the world didn't pause just because I almost died. To Nash. The human part of me felt conflicted because he was her brother, but that thought flashed and went away quick. To the fact that the bullet meant for Jules almost left Ayida widowed before she ever really got to live. My hand tightened around hers. She squeezed back.
—
Ayida stood off to my right, gigglin' with Nia and Chiana, champagne glasses tilted just enough to say they were feelin' good but still had sense. She looked lighter than she had in week, shoulders loose, laughter easy, eyes warm. That shit mattered to me more than anything in this moment. I let myself look away for half a second. That was my mistake.
Because the moment I did, my body reacted before my mind could catch up. Ayida reached for me, fingers sliding into mine, squeezing once hard. Not playful. I felt a shift crawl up my spine slow. My chest got tight I lifted my head to see Nash, His sister, and an older woman I didn't need a damn introduction for. They were moving toward us like they was welcome or some shit .
My jaw locked. Before I could even speak, Mama appeared outta nowhere, stepping in front of Ayida like a damnforce field. "What in the fuck is she doin' here?" Mama snapped, eyes hard as hell.
Ayida went pale instantly. I felt it through her hand. the way her grip tightened, the way her breath hitched. I didn't hesitate. I pulled her into my side, arm wrappin around her waist, clutchin her like I could shield her from history itself if I squeezed hard enough.
My nostrils flared. Out the corner of my eye, I saw Juste movin fast. Jules too. Pierre wasn't far behind. We all felt it. That instinct that had kept us alive longer than most niggas deserved. Nash stopped in front of us. The nigga was too close and too comfortable. He nodded at me like we was cool. Then he turned his attention to Nia.
"Nia," he said smooth. "We need to talk." That smile never left his face. That same smile I'd seen in Ayida's eyes when she told me what she saw. That same shadow energy that crept into her dreams. That same grin that belonged to a nigga who enjoyed fuckin' with people's lives.
