Today, though… I was tired of feeling like this. Tired of pretending I was okay when I wasn’t. I was watching Coast’s will video again, and when it got to the end—the part I always avoided—I finally let it play.
His voice came through the speakers, steady and sure.
“Yummi… if you ever decide this ain’t the life for you no more—if you wanna step down—then give everything to Mula. And don’t let nobody else sit next to him, under him, or behind him. Not even Hurricane. Once you out, you out. He’s the only one who can handle it. I know out of all of y’all, he’s not stepping down.”
I paused the video as tears filled my eyes, but I didn’t cry. I was past that now.
I heard the door open, and Mula came in, cool and quiet like always. He sat next to me, pulled out a blunt, and lit it.
“Lunch is ready,” he said, voice low.
I nodded, but I kept my eyes on the screen.
“Lameek,” I said softly, “we need to talk.”
He leaned back, exhaled a long cloud of smoke. “What’s up?”
I took a deep breath. My hands were shaking, but I spoke steadily.
“I’m done. I wanna step down—give everything to you. The business, the streets, the name… all of it.”
He didn’t say anything right away. Just sat there, watching me like he was trying to read my soul.
“I can’t do this shit no more. I’m not built for it the way I thought I was. I’m tired. I wanna focus on my mental health, my son, and my life. I’ve been in therapy, taking meds, but I still feel like I’m drowning some days. I need more help, and I can’t get it if I’m still trying to play general in a man’s world. I’m not the same Yummi. I’m not that girl anymore.”
I finally looked at him, and my voice cracked.
“I don’t wanna fail my son.”
He sat there for a second, like he was taking it all in. He nodded slowly, like he already knew this was coming.
“I hear you, Yummi. I got you. You ain’t gotta carry shit no more. I’ll take it. All of it.”
I felt my chest loosen, like I could finally breathe.
“I wanna plan the wedding. I wanna be a wife… a mother. Not the general of Southwave.”
Mula smirked, his voice low and deep.
“Baby… you’relegendaryin Southwave. You’ll always be the general.”
I smiled, but this time it felt real. Not forced. Not fake. Real.
I’M FUCKING YOUR OPP
Southwave wasa different world in the summer. Hot, humid, and dangerous in the kinda way that made you feel alive. I’d been posted up here for a couple of weeks, ever sinceMula dipped Colorado, lowkey but not really. Thought he could disappear and I wouldn’t notice? Please.
I saw him. Ifelthim.
Now, we were bumping heads atVelvet South. I was with my new Southwave crew—girls I linked with, girls who knew how to move in these streets. The DJ called Mula’s name over the speakers like he was royalty, and as soon as that happened, I felt the energy shift.
Rivera—the older dude I’d been chilling with, Hurricane’s uncle—he left with his crew real quiet. He went from having his hand on my thigh and his eyes heavy like he wanted to see how far I’d go, to him leaving like he was never here. That told me everything. Mula was the opp, but the biggest, and most feared.
I was still sitting in Rivera ’s section, I wasn’t trying to play any games. The second I saw Mula, I got hot. I was drunk as hell, feeling reckless. I couldn’t help myself. I walked straight over to him as soon as Rivera was out of eyes’ reach. He saw me coming, but he stood there all cool, sipping from his champagne bottle.
“Storm,” he said, his eyes cutting through me. “The fuck you doin’ out here?”
I smirked, boldly, trying to play it off like my heart wasn’t racing.
