I rolled my eyes, trying to shake him off. “She ain’t gotta tell me that.” But my words felt hollow, and his face told me he knew it.
His fingers slid over my wrist, down to my hand, and his thumb traced the bandaged cut like he was reminding me who I belonged to.
“It’s going to get better, just like your new life with me,” he uttered, eyes locked on mine like he could see straight through me. “That pain you’re feeling… It’s worth it. You’ll see.”
I don’t know what the fuck got into me, but I looked him dead in the face and said, “I’ll take pain from you before I take love from any other nigga out here.”
His grin spread slow, wicked, like I’d just sold my fucking soul—and maybe I did.
I glanced at Solace and the girls, but I already knew I wasn’t going to a pool party. I couldn’t anyway. My hand was too fucked-up to touch water.
I left the beach with Hurricane and slid into his Porsche like I ain’t have any other choice.
Back at our condo, he had me up against the wall before I could even take my shoes off.
“Say you mine.”
“I’m yours,” I whispered, my breath catching.
“Say it again.”
“I’m yours,” I cooed softly.
He didn’t even wait. He slid a ring onto my finger. The big diamond fit perfectly, but it was gaudy and heavy as hell.
“Now you my fiancée. You understand me?”
I nodded, breathing hard, my head spinning from the pressure, the weight, and the heat of him.
He kissed me hard and shoved me onto the bed. His rough hands were all over me, claiming me like he owned every inch. He took off my bikini and folded me like a pretzel before fucking me hard, giving me long, deep strokes that had tears coming out my eyes. He grabbed my throat, but his grip tightened. I gasped, feeling the air leave my lungs, the world starting to blur.
I blacked out.
When I woke up, my body was sore, the sheets were a mess, and my mind foggy as hell. I could barely remember the night, but I knew one thing: Hurricane had taken over my life—Who I could see. Where I could go. What I could say.
And worst of all? I let him.
A SOUTHWAVE GOON
I’d been scrollingon a travel site one night. I was half-drunk, half-bored with a pocket full of money. I felt like my life was stuck on repeat, and that’s when I found it.
Sable Cove, California.A Black-owned luxury city with a hood calledSouthwave—beaches, festivals, fine-ass niggas who looked like they’d ruin your life in the best way. The site said they were having a whole festival:Southwave Summer Kick-Off.
I was sold.
My girls and I packed up, booked the trip, and now here we were—VIP only at the Boardwalk, a pre-game to the festival. The sun was hot as hell, burning my skin just right. I’d been needing a real tan, a real vibe, and maybe... a real nigga to match.
Southwave felt like a dream. It reminded me of home—Starlight Hills—but this city had an edge. I loved all the Black luxury, but with that Cali rawness and the men? Whew. Different. They had that hood energy; real beach boys but with blickys tucked in their swim trunks like it was nothing.
I was sitting near an outside bar called Tide’s Edge with my girls. I had my drink in hand with shades on, trying to play it cool, but my eyes kept drifting. That’s when I sawhim.
I ain’t know his name yet, but I knew he washim. Dark chocolate skin glistening in the sun, tattoos stretching across his chest and arms like art, a fresh fade, wavy, thick chain sitting heavy on his neck. He was at a stone round table by the basketball courts, playing cards, laughing low with his boys.
“Bitch, we need some weed,” my best friend, Rio, whispered in my ear, nudging me. “You got us out here in hood paradise, let’s go ask them if they’re selling.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Girl, I’m not going over there.”
But right as I said it, the guy I was looking at, and his boys, stood up. I tried to act like I wasn’t looking… like I wasn’tstudyingthe way his gun sat casually in the waistline of his swim trunks, the way his watch caught the sun, or the way he walked like the beach belonged to him.
