"How much from the last four nights?" Juste asked from behind the desk, eyes scannin paperwork like numbers could explain the missing baby. "Two-fifty total," I said, banding up the cash with practiced hands. My fingers were steady but my mind wasn't. "Them mutha fuckas around," Juste muttered, irritation sharp in his voice. "Two hundred bands all they left on the street? They ain't crossed state lines yet. What the fuck am I missin'?" He wasn't talkin' to us as much as he was talkin' to himself. Pierre leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin. "What about before Fidel got all his shit? Any old family property? Land? Some shit they don't talk about?"
"Nah," Juste said, shaking his head. "That nigga ain't have shit. His people either. I triple-checked." Jules sat off in the corner, quiet, cup in his hand. He hadn't said much in days. Didn't need to. The grief sat on him like a second skin. His eyes were hollow. His jaw stayed tight. He looked like a man holding himself together with willpower and nothing else.
I didn't say what I was thinkin'. That disappearin' like this felt intentional and the longer this dragged on, the more dangerous it got. Didn't say that if they hurt Juliana…I stopped myself right there. Anger was easier than fear. Fear made you hesitate. Anger kept you movin'.
My phone buzzed on the desk. I snatched it up before it could vibrate again. Ayida, no message. Just her name lighting the screen. I stared at it longer than I should've.
She'd been quiet these last few days too, not distant, just watchful, and givin me my space. Like she was listening tosomething I couldn't hear. She prayed more. Touched my me more. Looked at me longer before I left the house.
I slid the phone face down. Didn't trust myself to look at it again. Juste watched me from across the desk like he was readin' the shift in my eyes instead of my face. He leaned back slow in the chair, voice low, measured. "Shoot her a text. Let her know you aight."
"Nah," I said, already reachin' for the next stack of money. My fingers moved automatically, muscle memory takin' over while my mind went somewhere darker. "I'ma slide home in a lil'. Spend a couple hours." Truth was, I needed to see her. Needed to feel her hand on my chest. Needed to remind myself I was still human.
Before Juste could respond "Woaaaa" Jules said sudden, sharp. He stood up fast, phone already in his hand, answerin' before the second ring could die. He hit speaker without thinkin', like instinct knew this wasn't a private conversation. The other end was quiet. Jules frowned. His shoulders squared. "Wassam," he said, voice tight. A second passed. "You ready to let me have my family, St. Jean?" Nash's voice slid through the room smooth and smug, like he was enjoyin' himself. Like this was a game.
I watched Jules' nose flare. His jaw locked so tight I thought his teeth might crack. "Ion give a fuck what you and Nia got goin'," Jules snapped, voice cold, controlled in that way that only meant one thing. "I want my mutha fuckin' baeebby. You and that bitch can run off into the sunset if you want."
Nash laughed. "Man, how many times I gotta tell you," Nash said, amused. "That ain't your baeebby. I got paperwork on that." Something in Jules was fucked up about what hesaid. I saw it and felt it. "Fuck yo pussy-whooped ass and that paperwork you claim you got," Jules roared, vein jumpin' out his forehead. "Tell me where you at, fuck nigga!"
"Drop the lo, bitch ass nigga!" I barked from behind him, chair screechin' as I stood up. Pierre was already movin'. Juste's hand hit the desk hard.
Nash didn't sound rattled. That's what pissed me off the most. "You want her back," Nash said calmly, like he was negotiatin' property, not talkin' about a child. "Buy her back. Let me see how deep them St. Jean pockets really get." The room went dead still. "A million dollars," Nash continued. "Cash. No funny shit. I send you the drop-off location."
Jules' breathing was loud now. Ragged. His knuckles were white around the phone. "You touch one hair on my baeebbyy head..." Jules started.Click.The line went dead.
I stared at the phone in Jules' hand like it might start ringin' again on its own. I felt my teeth grind. That wasn't a ransom. That was disrespect. That was a challenge.
We spent the next couple hours movin' like ghosts quiet, efficient, angry. Cash got pulled from places without questions. Safes cracked open. Envelopes stacked. Rubber bands snapped. Nobody joked. Nobody talked about what came after. We all knew better.
A million dollars sat on the desk eventually, ugly and heavy, lookin' like blood before it ever got spilled.
And then, nothing came.
No call.
No text.
No coordinates.
Just silence. I checked my phone more times than I wanted to admit. Each time the screen stayed dark, my patience died a little more.
By the time the sky started to lighten outside the windows, that sick blue gray before sunrise, Juste finally stood up and rubbed his face. "Go get some sleep," he said, voice rough. "We ain't doin' nobody no good like this." Pierre nodded. I didn't argue.
Jules did. "I ain't leavin'," he said flat, sittin' back down like the chair was part of him now. His eyes were red, empty. Gone somewhere I couldn't reach. "If that phone ring, I'm answerin' it."
Juste stared at him for a long second, then nodded once. "Aight."
I walked out last. The door closed behind me with a soft click, but it sounded loud as hell in my head.
As I stepped into the morning air, I felt it settle in my chest. This wasn't over. This was just the part where everybody still breathin' thought they had time.
Little did they know they didn't.
Not anymore.
Ayida
I stood at the bathroom counter gripping the edge like it was the only thing keeping me upright. Cold marble under my palms. Noles stood behind me, quiet for once, lining the needle up like he'd been doing this the whole time instead of just the past couple weeks. His face was serious in the mirror jaw tight, brows pinched, eyes locked in like this was a mission and not my body. I hated the needle. Not because of the pain. Because of what it represented.
