Nyce
Sunday | 6:15pm
I lay backin the Rolls-Royce, blunt in hand. The leather was smooth, AC low, music just loud enough to blur the world. Legs spread. I was the definition of calm but my mind wasn’t. I was thinking about Princess again.
Little defiant thing with them big-ass glasses and smart-ass mouth. She walked like she had something to prove and looked me in the eye like she wasn’t scared. Most people flinched when they saw me. She didn’t. She had this way of keeping her chin up, even when she was in the lion’s den.
Earlier, she came downstairs in that little black outfit, tight where it counted. That was damn near disrespectful. I was stuck for a second, heat crawling up my neck. Princesswas a distraction I couldn’t afford. Pretty, mouthy, and way too tempting for a business situation. I hit the blunt again, trying to shake her from my head.
My phone buzzed, and I glanced down at the screen, taking my time before finally answering.
I lifted it to my ear. “You got my money?”
Zeke’s voice tightened, almost strangled with pride. “I’ll have half by tomorrow.”
I pulled on the blunt and exhaled through the cracked window. “Nah.”
“What?”
I slouched deeper into the seat, my tone ice-cold. “The fuck you think this is? I want all of it. No discounts. No installments.”
“That’s a lot of money in a short amount of time,” he said. He was still trying to sound composed, but I could hear the cracks. He was losing it.
I countered, “You should’ve thought about that before you came knocking on my door. You tried to run with wolves, and now you’re limping.”
The line went quiet. I pictured him pacing, rubbing his fake-holy forehead, sweating through another overpriced suit. He dressed like God’s chosen, but made deals in the dark, same as the rest of us. Eventually, he spoke. “If you don’t take what I’m offering, you might not get anything.”
That made me laugh. “Now that’s funny as fuck.”
“You think this is a fucking game, Nyce?” he shouted, tension cracking in his voice. “I can get the law involved and have your name on a warrant by morning!”
I set the blunt in the ashtray and looked out the window. “You really wanna play that game, preach? Go ‘head. When they start digging, they won’t just come for me. They’ll come for you, too. And last I checked, you still got skeletons in your closet.”
He didn’t say shit.
“You bring cops into this,” I threatened, “and I’ll send your daughter home in pieces. That’s a promise.”
His breath hitched. “Alright,” he muttered, low. “I’ll get the fucking money.”
“I know,” I said, steady. “If you don’t, you won’t see her again.” I let it hang, then ended the call.
Belvin eyed me in the rearview. “You think he’s really gonna come through?”
I picked the blunt back up and sneered. “A nigga like him? He’ll sell his wife and preach about it if it buys him time.”
A few minutes later, we pulled up in front ofEdge. The SUV eased to a stop. The valet was already outside, standing straight like he knew better than to waste my time. I stepped out, fixed the cuffs on my black button-down, and nodded at the bouncer on my way in.
Inside, the club was packed. Lights flashing, bass thumping, bodies moving like they had no life responsibilities. The energy was live, but I wasn’t here to party. I was escorted past the dancefloor, through the back, and up the velvet staircase. Security opened the VIP door without speaking. They knew what it was.
In the VIP section, Vincent Cruz waited, looking like a funeral and a million-dollar deal: black suit, silver tie, liquor in hand, usual smug look.
“You always keep the good shit,” I said, gesturing at the gold bottle of liquor as I slid into the seat across from him.
He smirked and poured me a glass. “Only the best for my most unpredictable client.” We clinked glasses. “You get what you needed from that last tip?” he probed.
I took a sip. “I got her before she said ‘I do.’ So yeah. It worked.”
Cruz chuckled. “You never disappoint.”
“I need more, though.”
His eyes lit up. “Then you’re gonna love what I found.”
I leaned in as he laid it out. Clean. Precise. Emails. Hidden accounts. Side deals. A few names I knew, others I didn’t. All tied to Don. All dirty. All useful. I had moves ready before he finished.
Cruz raised his glass again. “To leverage.”
I tapped mine against his. “To winning.”
We drank to that. In this game, it’s always leverage. Who’s desperate enough to pay, and who wins.
