Page 136 of Heavy Is The Crown

Kenyatta’s fingers flexed slightly against his knee before he responded. “Yeah.”

Short. Clipped.

She smirked slightly. “Yeah?”

He glanced at her then, his gaze just a little darker than before, but he didn’t say anything.

She let the silence linger for a moment before shifting gears. “You should stay the night.”

It wasn’t an offer. It wasn’t casual. It was a statement, one that hung in the air thick and intentional.

To her surprise, Kenyatta didn’t push back. He didn’t throw out some half-assed excuse or make it a thing. He just studied her for a second before giving a single nod.

“A’ight.”

Krys didn’t fully understand why he quickly agreed; didn’t know if it was about trust or convenience or if he just wasn’t ready to be alone with his thoughts tonight.

As they drove through the gates of Bayfront Heights, past manicured landscapes and towering beachfront homes, she felt it settling in. Tonight, things were different.

And neither of them would be able to ignore it.

**********

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

Kenyatta let the door shut behind him, exhaling slow as the faint scent of Krys’ perfume and Musa’s presence lingered in the air. He could hear her footsteps disappearing somewhere down the hall, the heavy sound of Musa’s paws trailing behind her.

Just like that, he was alone, and he needed a drink. He was relaxed enough despite all the alcohol he had consumed earlier.

He moved through the dimly lit space, the sleek, modern design of her kitchen making him feel like he had stepped into a world that wasn’t his, but something he could definitely adjust to.

Marble counters, state-of-the-art appliances, neatly stacked bottles of expensive wine sitting on display but no damn whiskey, cognac, rum, or tequila.

He opened one cabinet. Then another. Nothing.

Krys wasn’t a brown liquor type, he should’ve known that.

With a low grunt, he let the last cabinet door shut and leaned against the counter, rubbing his hands down his face.

His mind was still stuck on earlier. Rico, the streets, and most of all Krys. She was in his head now. Not just in the way a bad chick usually was; something to lust after, something to conquer.

Nah. She wasinhis head. Every move she made, every word she said, every time she looked at him like she saw something more than what the streets had made him. It was pissing him off.

Not at her, at himself. Because how the hell was he supposed to balance being this nigga and wanting her at the same time?

Krys wasn’t the type to be on a nigga’s arm for looks. She wasn’t going to be the chick in the passenger seat while he risked his life trying to get out of a debt he never should’ve owed. She was the one behind the wheel.

That was why he wanted her even more. The shit was sexy.

Kenyatta exhaled, running his tongue over his teeth. What was it about her that made them fit so naturally? He had never felt this with anyone else; not even Brooke back in the day. Of course, not Brooke. That was the wrong comparison, but this was so far from what he had had with Brooke. This was easy.

Women like Krys didn’t just fall for a nigga like him, unless they were being reckless. Was Rico right, then? Was Krys ever with K9?

He wasn’t the type to ask a woman about her past, but this wasn’t just any nigga. This was K9; the same mothafucka that fed him to the feds. So, if Rico was saying it, that meant the streets were whispering it too.

Krys’ bare feet made no sound against the floor as she stepped in, fresh from wherever the hell she had disappeared to.

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