I shook my head, lips curling into a cold grin.
“Niggas get too comfortable... start thinking they made the wave instead of just riding it.”
I grabbed my phone, flipped to the messages. One caught my eye—anonymous number, no name saved.
Unknown: You know, Hurricane movin’ weight behind your back, right?
I stared at the screen for a beat, then let out a low, dangerous chuckle.
“Oh, a’ight. That’s how we playing it?” I uttered to myself.
I scrolled back to the books and ran the numbers again from Hurricane. Shit wasn’t adding up, and now it was clear why. Hurricane was out here trying to build his own little current under my ocean, like I wouldn’t notice. Like I ain’t been watching.
I tapped the ash off my blunt as smoke curled up in front of me.
See, Mula? That was a solid nigga. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t move funny, didn’t touch what wasn’t his. Mula been down since my jet ski days—when it was just me, him, and Yummi moving packs across the water, building this shit from nothing. He was quiet, but the streets talked about him like a fucking legend at his young age. Women loved him, but Mula didn’t even like the attention. He was focused. That’s why I fucked with him the way I did.
Hurricane? Nah. That nigga was too loud. Always had been. He knew that made him a bullet sponge, but he walked around like he didn’t give a fuck.
I saw him on the cameras with Yummi, too, but before I left, I saw the way he was lurking, watching her like she wasn’tmyfamily. She was my lil’ sis. I didn’t give a fuck how grown she thought she was, she was off limits. Hurricane knew that. Or at least, he should have.
I sat up, grabbed my Glock off the table, and spun it in my hand slowly. The metal felt cold, heavy, and familiar.
Niggas forget I built this wave. I’ll drown a nigga in it if I have to.
THEY GON’ LEARN…
I wasn’t stupid.I made sure I was meeting Coast in the daylight at a public spot with people around. That wasn’t for him. That was for me. To make sure shit didn’t getoutta hand while he played boss.
We were meeting at Tide’s Edge, a shore bar in Southwave. It was laid-back with wood tables, sun umbrellas, and reggae low in the background. Waves crashed a few feet away, and Sable Cove’s skyline glinted in the distance. Coast was already there with his feet kicked up, shades on, and a drink in hand.
He didn’t even look at me when I walked up. Just flicked his wrist at the chair across from him.
“Sit down, nigga. I should have brought Mula.”
I slowly sat, kept my face calm, and my eyes cold.
“Look, Coast, before we even start,” I started, leaning forward, voice low. “I already told you—keep this between us. Mula don’t need to be in the middle. He is loyal to both of us, don’t make him pick sides.”
Coast finally looked at me behind them dark shades. That little smug-ass look that made my blood boil.
“You act like this is my lil’ secret to keep. Like you doing me a favor asking me to keep quiet.” He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, nigga. You owe me so much money, I could smoke you right now and sleep like a baby. And you sitting here telling me you ain’t moving funny?”
His voice dropped, real low, and became cold.
“Explain this shit to me then.”
He pulled out his phone, slid it across the table. I glanced at the screen—one of those anonymous texts.
Unknown: You know, Hurricane movin’ weight behind your back, right?
I swallowed and sat back. I kept my face straight.
“I don’t know who sent that bullshit, but it’s just that, bullshit. You know how these streets move. Jealous niggas talk. I owe you bread, yeah, but I ain’t crossing you.”
“Uh-huh. Whatever you say, fam. But let me tell you this…” He leaned in. “You got five days. Five days to pay me back, or I’m telling Mula everything since you fear him and not me. The shortcuts. The texts. The whole game.”
He sat back, sipping his drink like he ain’t just threaten to set my whole shit on fire.
