“You know you love me, girl,” he said, proud of himself, leaning in to kiss her forehead.
She smiled, pushing him off her, “lemme go shower, so I can go to bed.”
He was already halfway to the bedroom, voice trailing. “I’m just sayin’, you know you do.”
She exhaled slowly, the laughter in her chest fading into a soft sigh. “Yeah… yeah… yeah.”
Tasha nodded, eyes heavy. “You know I do,” she yawned, grabbing her bonnet and a clean towel on the way to the bathroom.
The house fell still behind her, soft with steam and silence. And yet, something in the night didn’t settle. It just lingered…quiet and waiting.
The sun hadn’t even clearedthe rooftops, but the block was already popping. Cars creeping, corner boys pacing up and down the block, phones glued to their hands. Juelz pulled up, bass humming low, windows halfway down just enough for the air to hit his face.
He had that morning focus, eyes alert, gold flashing every time he licked his lips. The smell of weed and a new air freshener hung in the car. His phone wouldn’t stop buzzing from text notifications and missed calls.
Mar:
Aye, you movin’ slow this mornin’. Big man hit me talkin’ ‘bout those packages late.
Juelz:
Tell that nigga chill. I’m comin’, damn.
He wasn’t late. He was just careful. One wrong stop, and one car tailing him too close, and all that fast money would turn into a cold cot and a nasty ass meal tray.
He turned down an alley, parked behind a corner store, and popped the trunk. Inside were shoeboxes taped tight, one stacked with pills, another with baggies of powder, all wrapped neatly. To him, it wasn’t chaos. It was business.
Mar met him out back, hopping out of his SUV, smelling like gas.
“‘Bout damn time, my boy. You movin’ like a fuckin’ turtle.”
Juelz smirked, lighting a pre-rolled blunt. “Patience is the difference between free and twenty-five to life. I ain’t rushin’ for nobody.”
Mar laughed, counting a roll of hundreds. “Nigga! What old head you got that shit from?”
“Shit, don’t matter. Them old heads be talkin’ the truth.”
They dapped up, then got to work. Mar passed off the new drop, and Juelz slid him a cut from last night’s run. Clean, smooth. No middle-man fumbles. That’s why people trusted him, he didn’t move sloppy.
Still, the paranoia never really left. A black SUV rolled by, windows up, and both men went quiet until it turned the corner.
“See that shit?” Juelz pointed, flicking ash off his blunt. “You don’t see how this game changes every hour. Niggas out here talk too much, post too much, move too loud. They don’t know howto just get money and go the fuck home. They gotta show off the fuckin’ shit. And then wonder why niggas rob they stupid asses.”
Mar shrugged. “Shit, you sound like you had enough. You ready to give it up, nigga?”
“Give it up?” Juelz chuckled, eyes squinting through smoke. “Shit, not yet. This here just… phase one, nigga.”
“Phase one of what, El Chapo Jr.?” Mar teased.
“Phase one of peace, nigga. I’ma stack till I can walk away from this shit quietly. No cuffs, no ops, no feds. Just me, Tasha, and a lil’ one runnin’ through a big ass crib that we ‘gon hate when we get older.”
Mar looked at him sideways. “Nigga, you know damn well you don’t have to keep hustling. Yo ass got money stacked already. You just addicted to this shit. Addicted to the hustle.”
“Yeah,” Juelz agreed, voice low but sure. “Maybe I am. But I definitely want more.”
Mar blew smoke out slow. “I hear ya.”
Juelz smirked, brushing him off. “You betta.”
