Page 11 of Heavy Is The Crown

She hit end before he could respond.

The silence in the car felt heavier now.

She wouldn’t take him back. She knew that. That was no question. But sometimes, she wondered if he had really been her only shot at love? He had come close, closer than others.

Was there really someone out there who could match her? Who could handle her ambition and her power? Who wouldn’t make her question her worth? Did they exist?

She scoffed, shaking the thought off.

Fuck that.

She had too much going for her to be stuck in “what-ifs.”

Prince Charming would come. And when he did, he’d have to come correct.

Chapter 3

Kenyatta sank into the butter-soft leather of Jay-1’s BMW, his fingers drumming against his knee as neon lights from The Red District flickered past the tinted windows. The city looked familiar, yet different; like a rerun of an old episode with just enough changes to make him feel out of place.

This side of Trinity Bay never slept. Known as The Devil’s Playground, the Red District was where morals went to die. Casinos, strip clubs, underground gambling dens, and high-end escort services all coexisted under the same flickering marquees.

To tourists, it was an adrenaline rush, a place to lose money, inhibitions, or both. To locals like him it was a reminder that sin paid well. Behind every VIP section, behind every private high-roller room, was somebody getting finessed, somebody getting extorted, and somebody controlling it all from the shadows.

And that somebody…well, everyone knew who ran the city.

Even now, as they rolled through the strip, Kenyatta overheard the mention of one name slipping through the air like a whispered prayer: K9.

“Man, K9 got this shit in a chokehold.”

“You already know. Ain’t a move made in this city without K9 knowing.”

Kenyatta didn’t comment. He just listened. Because that was the thing about real power; it didn’t need to announce itself. Everybody just knew.

Jay-1, on the other hand, thrived in this world. He was still deep in the mix, still rubbing elbows with the same wolves Kenyatta used to run with. The same ones who were waiting to see if he’d fall back in line.

Kenyatta wasn’t ready to answer that question.

So, he didn’t.

Jay-1 weaved through traffic like the laws didn’t apply to him, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting his fitted cap. His gold chain caught the glow of passing streetlights, and his designer hoodie hung just right over his broad shoulders.

The smirk on his face was perpetual. The only time Jay-1 wasn’t grinning was when he was dead serious, and even then, he still might laugh just to piss somebody off.

Kenyatta sighed, watching the city unfold through the window.

Jay-1 glanced over, reading his body language instantly. “Damn, nigga, you sitting over there looking like a washed-up rapper tryna make a comeback.”

Kenyatta mocked. “And you look like a nigga that still owe his jeweler money.”

Jay-1 let out a loud laugh, smacking the wheel. “Aye, fuck you, bruh. You acting like you wasn’t out here shining before.”

Kenyatta exhaled, shaking his head. “I told you, man. I ain’t on that.”

Jay-1 sucked his teeth. “Yeah, yeah. Nigga out for a few weeks and suddenly he Malcolm X.”

Kenyatta side-eyed him. “Ain’t gotta be Malcolm to know I ain’t tryna do another bid.”

Jay-1 snorted. “Nigga, the way you living now, you already doing time. At least in the Feds you had a mattress. I know your mama couch got your back screaming.”

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