Page 132 of Heavy Is The Crown

The sun dipped lower, casting the lake in gold, making the ripples dance like melted amber. The scent of charred meat, spilled liquor, and fresh-cut grass lingered, mixing with the faintest trace of cigars and sweet perfume.

Folding chairs collapsed one by one, aluminum trays sealed up and tucked away, kids running their last wild laps before tired parents started packing up.

The men of War Lords and a few other friends and family weren’t moving just yet.

They were still posted up near the tents, holding onto their cups like trophies, conversation easy now, energy lighter than it had been all day.

Banter flew back and forth, the kind that came with a mix of liquor and nostalgia with old stories resurfacing, wild claims getting exaggerated, jokes hitting harder as the sun disappeared inch by inch.

Duke was midway through a ridiculous-ass story about some fight back in the day that Nub immediately called bullshit on.

“Man, if you knocked out three niggas by yourself, then I’m the damn Mayor of Trinity Bay. You might as well start calling me Mayor Charles—Chuck, Chucky—Whitmore, my nigga,” Nub scoffed, shaking his head.

Duke half smiled, unfazed. “Aye, I got receipts, nigga. Go ask C-Lo. He was there.”

Tez sucked his teeth. “Nigga, C-Lo ain’t got no damn teeth left, he don’t remember shit.”

Laughter erupted, shoulders shaking, heads nodding.

Kenyatta smirked, shaking his head as he took a sip from his drink. Though he tried to enjoy the rest of the evening, his mind still ambled back to earlier.

Felt the weight of Rico’s words sitting in his chest.

Krys used to fuck with K9, huh? The thought tightened something in his gut. It didn’t make sense. She just didn’t seem like the type to be tied in with a force like K9; but on the other hand, the way she was able to move the way she did…

Maybe it was worth looking into and asking the right questions to get the right answers.

Before he could continue to muse over the thought, he felt a presence; soft, but certain.

Krys.

She was just close enough that her perfume slipped past the scent of smoke and whiskey, soft but intoxicating.

She leaned in, her voice just low enough for him to hear, her lips near his ear.

“Come take a walk with me.”

It wasn’t a request; it was an order.

Kenyatta handed off his cup to Tez, ignoring the smirk that immediately spread across his boy’s face.

“Aye, that’s how it is?” Tez teased. “Nigga, you just gon’ leave us like that?”

Kenyatta shot him a look. “Hold the damn cup.”

Tez cackled, waving him off. “A’ight, a’ight. Go be in love, nigga.”

Krys rolled her eyes but smirked as Kenyatta fell into step beside her.

They walked in silence at first, the celebration fading behind them as they strolled toward the quieter part of the marina. The city lights reflected off the water, flickering like fireflies, while the hum of boat engines mixed with distant music, creating a slow, intimate rhythm.

The dock creaked gently beneath their steps, the scent of salt and charcoal still lingering in the air from the barbecue pits.

Krys trailed her fingers along the wooden railing, her eyes thoughtful, her energy unreadable. Musa wasn’t unreadable though. The big dog had followed at first, pacing behind them like a shadow, his posture rigid, protective. Only when Krys gave a subtle flick of her wrist, a silent command, did Musa slow his steps, stopping just a few feet away.

But he didn’t leave. He never left; always on duty. His heavy paws rested firmly against the dock, his golden eyes locked onto Kenyatta’s back. Waiting. Watching. No man had the opportunity to think he was about to be alone with Krys and get out of line. Musa was ready to remind him who he was dealing with.

Kenyatta didn’t fold under pressure. Never had. Right now, his focus wasn’t on Musa; it was on her.

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