“All I hear is bullshit slippin’ thru yo teeth,” Juelz said flatly.
He rolled a pair of rusty pliers in his palm like he was bored. His eyes never left K’s face.
“So, that tells me you need a lil’ dental exam. Huh? What you think, Mar? Should we get to the source of the bullshit?”
Mar grinned mischievously, rubbing his hands together. “Hell yeah! I say get to the root of the muthafucka.”
That did it.
The begging turned ugly. Tears. Snot. The kind of cry that only comes when a man realizes nobody is coming to save him. Hell, Lil’Rico was already dead. So why would they spare him? “Nah, bruh—please—I…I know who took the bricks.”
“Too late! Open yo’ mouth,” Juelz instructed. He was beginning to get very frustrated with the begging.
“List…listen! I—I…can make this right!” K continued, choking on his own panic. “I swear!”
“OPEN. YOUR. FUCKIN’. MOUTH,” Juelz demanded.
When he didn’t, Mar pistol-whipped him in the back of the head, and his scream split the barn open.
Juelz stepped in.
Gripping the first tooth he saw. His breath was calm, almost gentle. “Say, noNovacaine,muthafucka!”
The scream that followed echoed, raw and broken, the kind of sound that stayed in a place long after bodies left it.
Mar decided he couldn’t take the screaming any longer. He ended it by taking the loud saw blade he still held, across K’s throat. Blood sprayed immediately, hitting Juelz’s face. He froze. Not from fear. But from rage. This wasn’thisblood. He turned, spat hard on the floor, and jagged. It wasn’t from weakness, but straight up disgust. Another man’s fluids had hit his skin. A little blood even got on Mar's face. But he didn’t flinch. Just wiped the blade on K’s jeans, looking at the mess he’d made around him, then his gaze met Juelz’s face.
“Damn, my bad, Jue. I didn’t think he had that much juice left in him.”
Juelz finally moved. He wiped his face with his T-shirt, leaving him in nothing but his wife-beater.
“Nigga. You knew what the fuck you was doin’,” said Juelz as he started putting the tools back inside his black bag.
Mar was still teasing Juelz as he doused gasoline everywhere. “Yeah, whatever muthafucka. Take Tasha her pussy home and getcha dick back, nigga.”
He soaked the ropes, the bodies, and the nearby hay.
Juelz struck a match, they watched it dance for a second, then flicked it onto the soaked hay near the wall.
FWOOOM.
The garage door groaned as it slid shut behind him. Juelz stepped into the house as if he had come from a battlefield. His clothes smelled like gasoline and burnt wood. His shirt was clinging to his back, damp with sweat and smoke. The day was still young, but Juelz was already done with it.
Tasha peeked around the corner from the kitchen, her eyes clocking everything in one glance—his stiff shoulders, the way his chest rose too quickly, how he couldn’t meet her eyes.
“You good?” she asked, walking up slow, peeling his shirt off him like she was unwrapping a wound. He didn’t resist. Never did when it came to her hands.
“Yeah, I’m straight.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
Juelz brushed past her and headed for the bathroom. “I'd rather not.”
Tasha didn’t take it personally. She just followed, like always. She turned the shower on, grabbed towels, and moved like this wasn’t her first time bathing his demons off. He stepped in, andthe steam swallowed him. Tasha joined him quietly, lathering his towel and dragging it across his chest. Her hands moved over his skin with the kind of care that always undid him. Across his shoulders, down his arms. Over the knots life seemed determined to leave behind. He just stood there in silence, watching her as the water ran through his dreads, his thoughts running even faster. He was thinking about the bricks. About the connect. And about how he had to repay them. But Tasha had a way of making it all feel lighter. A way of reminding Juelz that before he was a provider, before he was a hustler, even before he was everybody’s answer. He was just a man. Herman.And for a few quiet minutes beneath the hot water, that was enough.
By the time they came out, towel hanging low on his hips, dreads dripping, eyes dark and hollow, he looked more ghost than man. Tasha laid out his comfort armor. Joggers. Tank. Fresh pair of boxers. He dressed in silence, then laid across her lap like a boy tryna escape the man he had to be.
“You know you my peace, right?” he asked.
