Page 109 of Heavy Is The Crown

She pointed at him, voice low, sharp enough to cut. “You wanna fuck around and pretend like you somethin’ you not?”

Her eyes darkened.

“Then you better make sure your bullshit don’t end up in my house again.”

Silence.

Kenyatta’s hands curled into loose fists, his frustration clear, but his face remained calm.

“Bet.” He stood up. “Then you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout me being here no more.”

He turned to head back to the bedroom for Kaliyah, but Traci was already shaking her head.

“Nah.”

Kenyatta paused, looking back at her, brows furrowed. “What?”

Traci’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You not takin’ her with you.”

Kenyatta’s stomach dropped. “Mama, what the f—”

“You heard me,” she snapped, standing up now, facing him head-on. “It’s too dangerous. I’m not lettin’ you drag her around while you got niggas out there looking for your dumb ass.”

Kenyatta’s jaw tensed. “She my daughter, Mama. She coming with me.”

Traci stepped forward, voice dangerous now. “She my granddaughter, and if you think for one second I’m about to let her get caught up in whatever the fuck you got goin’ on out there,” her nostrils flared, “you got me fucked up.”

Kenyatta and Traci stood toe-to-toe, the weight of the moment pressing down hard between them. Silence, dangerous and charged.

Kenyatta knew he wasn’t going to win this. Not tonight. Not with Bishop already sending messages and Rico tightening the grip. Especially not with Traci standing between him and his daughter, daring him to try her.

His fists clenched at his sides, his breathing heavy. Finally, he nodded once, jaw still locked. His voice was low, edged in something sharp. “Fine. I’ll be back for her.”

Traci’s expression didn’t change. “Make sure you still around to do that.”

Kenyatta didn’t say another word. He just turned, yanked the door open, and stepped into the night, anger and pressure weighing on him heavier than ever.

As Traci locked the door behind him, she closed her eyes and let out a slow, shaky breath, because deep down she was terrified he wouldn’t make it back.

**********

The old warehouse Rico operated out of was quiet. The low bass of a speaker rattled somewhere in the back, its deep hum vibrating through the metal walls like an unspoken warning.

Kenyatta pulled up, cutting the engine, rolling his shoulders once before cracking his neck. His mind was clear now. No distractions. Just business. Right now, that business was Rico. Kenyatta wasn’t the type to let a nigga test him, and Rico was pushing it.

Inside, Rico was already posted up, leaning back in his chair, waiting like he had all the time in the world. Trell stood nearby, arms crossed, watching like a damn referee, clearly enjoying the show before it even started.

Kenyatta walked in, movements slow, deliberate, taking in the space with a practiced eye.

Rico sneered as he sat forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “Well, well, well,” he drawled. “Look who finally decided to pop out.”

Kenyatta didn’t react. Didn’t blink. Didn’t acknowledge the bait. He just stared, slow blinking, like he was already over the conversation before it even started.

He began, voice too calm. “Look here, nigga…Why you sending muhfuckas to my mama’s house like I’m some regular ass nigga off the street? We ain’t on that, my nigga. I know I owe you; I’ma get you yo’ bread when I get it, but that other shit, my nigga…” his head tilted slightly, “ain’t no none of that happening no mo’.”

Trell let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Damn, somebody’s nerve was touched, huh?”

Kenyatta didn’t even acknowledge him; his eyes stayed locked on Rico.

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