Every mile felt like I was drivin' through wet concrete, hands stiff on the wheel, jaw locked so tight my teeth hurt. Ayida's fingers were still laced with mine, but I barely felt it now. My head was loud and that shit was crawlin' up my spine, stretchin' its claws, beggin' to be let loose.
When we pulled up, I didn't even pull all the way into the driveway. I parked crooked across the yard. Headlights cut through the dark, washin' over a couple police cars scattered out front. Red and blue lights bounced off the house, off the trees, off my windshield like accusations.
I cut the engine and was out the car before the silence could settle. Gravel crunched under my shoes as we rushed inside. The door was already open, like the house couldn't even protect itself anymore. Jules and Nia were in the kitchen talkin' to two officers. Nia looked hollow, like she was just emptied out. Jules was standin' too close to her, arm tense around her shoulders, but I could tell it was fake by the way he held his face. This was a show for the police.
I nodded at him once without speakin. Words felt useless right now. Juste was in the livin' room, phone pressed to his ear, voice low and sharp. Mama and pops were on the other end, I could tell by the way his shoulders were set.
Ayida slipped from my side without a word and moved closer to Amina and Chiana. I dropped onto the couch next to Pierre. He was leaned back, legs spread, arms crossed, eyes hard. He looked like he'd already made peace with the kind of night this was about to turn into. "Nigga what the fuck make your ass sleep so hard?" he said low. "We been callin' you forever."
I glanced at him sideways. "Pussy," I muttered. Juste's head snapped toward me so fast it cracked the air. "Noles, not the fuckin' time," he growled. Pierre let out a breath like he was holdin' back a laugh. "The fuck nigga funny." Pierre shot at him. "You gotta give it to him," he said, chucklin. "Timing trash, but delivery clean." Juste cut his eyes at him, unimpressed.
I leaned forward, hands clasped tight enough to feel my pulse beatin' against my palms. "Stop bullshittin'," I said. "What's goin' on?" Juste dragged a hand down his face slow, like the words were heavy. "This nigga picked the lock," he said. "Came through the back door. Walked clean through these folks' house like he lived here. Got baby girl out her bed. Cameras caught all that."
"And after?" I asked. Juste's nostrils flared. "After, he sent messages and pictures to Nia phone. On some 'takin' what's his' type shit." My jaw clenched so hard it damn near popped. "That nigga bold as a mutha fucka," I said, leanin' back in disbelief. "Bold don't even cover it." They should’ve let me killed this nigga weeks ago and we wouldn’t even be in the stupid ass situation.
I closed my eyes for half a second. When I opened my eyes, my vision felt sharp around the edges. "Juste," I said, voice low, even. Too even. "I'm done playin' nice. Done bein' on that pussy shit. If I see that nigga walk into church, grocery store, gas station, anywhere, I'm sendin' hot ones in his ass. On God."Juste looked at me long. He didn't argue "Yeah," he said. "Nigga fucked up church's money. It just is what it is." That's when I knew. This wasn't gettin' handled quietly. This wasn't gettin' prayed away. This was blood math.
I stood up, pacing slow across the room. Every step felt like pressure buildin' under my skin. I kept rollin' my shoulders, stretchin' my neck, tryin' to shake that post-coma stiffness that never really left. Sometimes my body still felt like it didn't belong to me. Like it could give out.
I glanced over at Ayida. She was sittin' quiet now, hands folded in her lap, head bowed slightly. I knew that posture. She was prayin' without movin' her lips. Callin' on her ancestors to keep this from goin' all the way left. Part of me wanted to snap her out of it and tell her to breathe. Another part of me needed her to keep doin' exactly that. Because while she was prayin', I was barely holdin' the leash on myself.
The police finally cleared out, their footsteps fading down the porch, red and blue lights disappearin' into the night like they hadn't just walked through the wreckage of somebody's family. The house felt smaller once they were gone. Quieter. Not peaceful, just heavy. Like the walls themselves were listenin'.
Jules and Nia drifted into the living room behind them. They Didn't walk together Or look at each other. They split the space without sayin' a word. Jules dropped' on the couch, elbows on his knees, head buried in his hands. Nia stayed standin' near the far wall, arms crossed tight over her chest like she needed to hold herself together. The tension between them was thick as hell. You could choke on it.
"One of y'all roll up, please," Jules muttered, voice raw. I watched him stand, slow and unsteady, like his bones didn'tquite fit right anymore. He went straight for the cabinet, hands shakin' just enough to notice as he poured himself a glass of liquor and turned it back in one go. He Didn't breathe. Just poured another. "You really think that's what you need to be doin' right now?" Nia said from across the room. Her voice cracked at the edges. Her eyes were red, swollen, like she'd been cryin' long before we got here.
Jules didn't look at her. He swallowed hard, set the glass down, then laughed low and bitter. "What I need to be doin'," he muttered. "Tuh. Bitch talkin' 'bout what I need to be doin'," The words slipped out before he could stop 'em and the air changed with ‘em.
Jules moved fast. One second he was by the cabinet, the next he was across the room, his hand clamped around Nia's face. His grip was brutal. fingers dug into her jaw, thumb pressin' hard against her cheek as he shoved her back until her shoulders hit the wall with a dull thud. She gasped. My chest tightened watchin the scene play out. "Nia," he snarled, finger jammin in the center of her forehead, "I want my mutha fuckin' baeebby." He squeezed her face harder, like he needed her to feel every ounce of what he was feelin'. "You see all this shit your hoe ass stirred up?" he yelled. "Huh? You see it? Answer me, gah damn it!" Nobody moved and nobody breathed.
"He took my baeebbyy, Nia," Jules roared, his voice shakin' the room. "I'ma kill that nigga. I'ma kill him. And that blood on your hands. You hear me? On your hands." Nia whimpered, her face twistin in pain as his grip tightened. "And if you think for one fuckin' second you gon' get in my way," he continued, eyes wild, manic, "I'll kill yo' mutha fuckin' ass too. Till death do we fuckin' part." The words hit like gunshots. I feltthe room recoil. This wasn't anger anymore, this was grief with fuckin teeth.
"I loved you since we was kids, Nia," he said suddenly, his voice breakin', goin' thin and fragile in a way that scared me more than the yellin. "I'll always love you. But you done broke a nigga heart with this shit." I moved hearing the emotion behind his voice.
"Juste," Chiana said softly, like she was afraid her voice might shatter something. In sync, no words needed, me, Juste, and Pierre crossed the room. "Ju, come on, man," Pierre said, grabbin' his shoulder. "Let her go." Jules didn't hear him or see him. His world was Nia and the wall behind her and the rage eatin' him alive. Her face twisted again, pain flashin' sharp across it. "Juste, he gon' hurt her, man," I said, the words tumblin out before I could stop 'em.
Juste didn't hesitate. "Jules!" he barked. "That's enough!" He grabbed him hard, wrenchin' him back. Jules resisted for half a second, like he just might kill her, then finally released her. Nia slid down the wall, knees bucklin'. Amina rushed to her side, Chiana right behind her, hands already soothin, voices low and steady. Jules stood there, chest heavin', eyes glassy, lookin' at Juste like he didn't recognize him. "Brudda," he said hoarsely, "I want my fuckin' baeebby. Do ya hear me?" Juste didn't answer. He just wrapped an arm around Jules' shoulders and steered him toward the door. "Come on," he said. "You need air before you do some shit you can't take back." We followed them outside, leavin' the women inside with Nia and the weight of what had just happened.
As the door shut behind us, I knew one thing for sure, this whole situation was causin more bullshit than any of us could've imagined
—
Juliana had been gone four days. Each one heavier than the last. I watched my brother unravel piece by piece, right in front of me. Jules hadn't slept. I knew because I hadn't either. Sleep felt like betrayal. Like if I closed my eyes, some shit would happen and I wouldn't be there to stop it.
Every time my phone buzzed, my heart jumped into my throat. Every time it didn't, my jaw clenched tighter. The Baptistes disappeared like ghosts. Their family house was empty. Curtains pulled. Lights dead. That big iron gate chained shut like nobody had ever lived there at all. Every legit business they owned posted signs about "temporary closure." Every underground operation Fidel built from the ground up, I spent my late nights robbin' the shit out they ass and leavin' bodies where money used to be.
Strip joints.
Dice houses.
Drop spots.
Storage units.
I hit everything that even smelled like Baptiste money. We leveled the Baptiste name piece by piece. tore their roots out the ground, salted the soil but still, not a peep. No calls. No sightings. No movement. Like they vanished into thin air with my niece.
I sat in the office at Velvet, counting money under low lights, the hum of the building buzzin faint in the background. The black leather bracelet slid along my wrist every time I moved my arm. Ayida made it for me. wove it herself, fingers patient, deliberate. She braided different shit into it. Roots. Beads. Little knots she wouldn't explain all the way."Protection,"she said."For your spirit."I had the necklace to match, tucked under my shirt, resting right over my chest. Sometimes I swore it tightened when my thoughts went too dark.
