He ripped open the second bag as his voice trailed off. Then the third, thinking something would change. His face hardened as it hit him all at once. No money, just Boe, bagged in pieces. One of them was his head, his lips missing… the same lips that once kissed Nivéa on the forehead. The money he had been expecting? Crown had handed that to Grim instead. Because a man like him wasn’t playing checkers, he was playing chess.
“What the fuck is this?!” Preach spat, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls.
“You wanted that nigga, there he is. And that’s all you get from me, muthafucka.” Crown clarified, arms crossed in front of him.
Any respect he once had for Preach went out the window the day he tried to play him like he was a bitch. Niggas didn’t want peaceful Crown; they wanted the beast he worked so hard to keep chained. War was easy to start but hard to end, and for the sake of everyone’s family, Crown tried to move carefully. But anytime a nigga thought about taking it there with him, it was up. Blood would be shed.
Preach’s jaw tightened. “That’s not what the fuck we agreed on.” He pulled his gun.
And the room shifted instantly. Guns came up on both sides, aimed, and fingers ready on the triggers.
Preach chuckled in disbelief. “You really wanna fuck with me, Crown? Need I remind you what is on the line?” His gaze narrowed, hinting at Nivèa.
“Nah, the real question is, do you wanna fuck with me? Just like The Dessalinés Mob has their hittas, I have mine. Let me tell you a story about my grandfather, Hendrix Knight.” Crown matched his energy from the previous meeting.
“He founded The Knights. Built it on blood, sweat, and asphalt. Bar fights. Turf wars. Prison bids. Long rides across state lines into territories that didn’t want us there, but he forced them to acknowledge who the fuck we were. He didn’t just show up. He expanded. Now, we got niggas ready to roll from anywhere off one phone call. Which means my reach extends far beyond the Hills, P. I’m the national president. Look around.”
Preach scanned the room as more Knights entered, led by Danger. It was overwhelming. He scrutinized them, noticing the same cuts and colors, but too many unfamiliar faces. Knights not usually seen in Satin Hills. His eyes darted over their vests, taking in the detailed stitching. And just as Crown had stated, each represented different states and chapters: Texas, Tennessee, Georgia, Louisiana, Michigan, Illinois…the list went on. Each had its own president, but they all answered to one hierarchy, Crown. A position he held because his grandfather founded The Knights.
“This how this gon’ go. You gon’ take whatever’s left of this bitch ass niggayoulet into your camp and move on with that L. And I move on, peacefully. If not, shit won’t end well.” Crown added.
“Is that a threat?” Preach asked, seething.
Crown took a step forward, unfazed by the guns trained on him. He knew if one shot went off, the place would turn into a slaughterhouse. He might not walk out, but neither would Preach. And that was a fact. He had more Knights discreetly positioned outside the building from afar as well, watching from a distance. And that didn’t even include the members who had stayed behind in their states and were on standby.
“Let me be frank, you aim for me or anything that belongs to me, and the Knights gon’ burn this bitch to the ground with The Dessalinés Mob in it. That’s a threat.”
Benjamin shifted at that, his finger twitching on the trigger. Preach noticed and tapped his arm, signaling him to lower the weapon as he scanned the room once more. A true leader knew when to hold and when to fold. War meant heat, and heat meant attention, bad for business, especially with the feds already circling.
∞∞∞
With his hands positioned behind his back, Crown stood at his office window, lost in thought as he looked down at the city. The war was over…Preach had been handled, and Boe was dead. Yet he had a whole other issue on his hands. Now he had to find a new location for his chop shop and start from scratch, along with securing a new drug supplier. The life of a boss wasn’t easy.
The door opened, breaking his trance. He turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder to see Danger walk in with a grin, slowly taking a seat in front of him.
“What, nigga? Fuck you got that goofy ass look on your face for?” Crown scowled just as Smoky strolled in.
Danger did something he hadn’t done in a while. He chuckled hard, thinking his brother was mean as hell. But what really had him going was the day’s events.
“Bro, listen. That nigga Preach got the fuck up out of here. I don’t know who moved faster, him or that bitch-ass nigga Boe. That muthafucka almost lost a shoe getting out of that market parking lot. Shit crazy.”
Smoky joined in, cracking up as they slapped hands. But Crown didn’t share the humor. He took a seat and said,
“I’m glad to see you feeling better, but it’s time to find a new connect, nigga. The shit with Preach is dead, and we're almost out of product.”
Danger nodded, pulling a blunt from behind his ear and sparking it. After taking a few pulls, he handed it to Smoky.
“Aight, don’t trip. I got a nigga in mind. We gon’ have to travel, but he’s legit.”
“Who?” Crown asked.
“His name is Elijah. Everyone calls him Jah, though. He’s in the Heights. You know that’s my second home. I’m cool with his cousin Isaiah. He's been talking about doing business for years, but I know you don’t like change, so I never mentioned it.”
“Aight, change is here. Set it up.” Crown told him, tapping the desk.
“Bet,” Danger replied.
“You trust Preach gon’ fall back for real and let it go?” Smoky asked.
