Page 137 of Heavy Is The Crown

Musa had peeled off somewhere, finally giving her space.

When she saw Kenyatta leaning against her counter, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes darker than usual, she picked up on it immediately.

“You look like you got something to say,” she noted, voice calm but knowing.

Kenyatta studied her for a moment. He asked the one thing that had been sitting in his chest all night. “You ever fuck with niggas like me? I remember ol’ boy—that Zahir nigga—kept saying something to that effect. It ain’t like you or whatever, but…”

Krys’ brows lifted slightly.

“Like you how?” she countered.

“You know what I mean,” he muttered, his fingers tapping lightly against the counter. “Street niggas.”

Krys exhaled, tilting her head slightly.

“Is that a real question?”

Kenyatta didn’t blink. “Yeah.”

Krys leaned back against the island, crossing her arms.

“I like men who move with power,” she admitted smoothly. “Who handle their shit. Who ain’t soft.”

Kenyatta smirked slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That sound like a yes.”

Krys watched him, letting a short silence stretch before she spoke.

“I like a man that knows who he is,” she said carefully. “But I don’t chase niggas who don’t know where they fit in, whether they’re in the streets or not, if that’s what you asking.”

Kenyatta’s jaw flexed. He could sense she wasn’t lying, but she wasn’t telling him everything either. It was bothering him more than it should have.

“Is that why you ain’t asking me no real questions?” he asked, his voice dropping slightly. “You don’t wanna know what I gotta do to get out?”

Krys didn’t blink.

“I already know what you gotta do.”

That made him pause.

She stepped closer, slow, her presence commanding the space effortlessly.

“I know you drowning,” she said smoothly. “And I know what kind of nigga you are.”

Kenyatta’s grip on the counter tightened.

Krys tilted her head, her voice soft but firm. “What I don’t know,” she murmured, “is if you wanna be that nigga forever or…if you want to level up.”

His chest rose slightly. That was the real question. He could still be a street nigga, or he could be something else. Something more. Something that had nothing to do with the life that kept dragging him back under.

Krys wasn’t going to ask him to choose; she was just going to see if he figured it out himself.

Kenyatta let out a slow, short breath and smirked. “You really think you got me figured out, huh?”

Krys smirked back, but there was something unreadable in her eyes. “Not yet,” she murmured, turning toward the fridge. “But I’m close.”

Kenyatta exhaled, running a hand over his face. He had little time to handle Rico. And little time to figure out if he was really about to let her in…

Or if he needed to walk away now. Kenyatta leaned against the counter, arms folded, eyes steady on Krys as she moved through the kitchen. The weight of Rico’s words still lingered in the back of his mind.

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