Page 19 of Heavy Is The Crown

“You keep looking at me like you tryna solve a puzzle,” Kenyatta said lazily.

Krys smirked, gripping the wheel tighter. “Are you…a puzzle?”

He exhaled through his nose. “Something like that.”

She didn’t press. Not yet. But something told her this was going to be the beginning of a situation she hadn’t asked for. And for whatever reason, that thought didn’t bother her nearly as much as it should have.

Chapter 5

Krys pulled up to the curb, her black Mercedes looking painfully out of place in front of a rundown, sun-faded, two-story house with chipped paint, an overgrown lawn littered with beer bottles, and a leaning porch that had definitely seen better days.

The street was alive—loud music thumped from a passing Crown Vic, kids ran barefoot across cracked sidewalks, and a couple of older dudes stood on the corner posted up like they were security, their eyes sharp despite the blunt being passed between them.

Just down the street was the projects, Ravenwood Heights, an endless maze of two-story apartment buildings, lined up in rows, one after the other; identical, soulless, and worn-down. No high-rises, no views, just rows of struggle.

This was the hood and Krys wasn’t fazed.

She parked but didn’t kill the engine. “This it?” she asked, side-eyeing Kenyatta.

Kenyatta smirked, rubbing his hands together before grabbing the door handle. “Yeah, this it.”

Krys was about to tell him to get out of her car when suddenly—

“AHT, AHT! I KNOW THIS AIN’T MY COUSIN…AND WHO THE FUCK YOU GOT IN THE CAR?”

Krys closed her eyes.

Damn.Tyra.

She had no time to prepare before Tyra, Trinity’s loudest, finest, and messiest hood-certified diva, was stomping up to the car, her long red acrylics clicking against the window as she leaned in.

Tyra was bad, no doubt. Hair laid, lashes thick, tight shorts hugging her thick thighs with the pink fur slides to match. She was the type that always had a nail appointment, a fresh frontal, and a plan to make money; legal or not.

She peered into the car like a detective, her lashes fluttering dramatically.

Krys stopped her before she could speak. “Tyra, how you know it was even me in this car?”

Tyra hollered, “Bitch, your plate!”

Krys cut her eyes. That’s right, her custom vanity plate: UCLDNEVA

“Ohhh, bitch. Speaking of plates, you out here looking like one!” she declared, eyeing Kenyatta up and down like he was a full-course meal. Then she cut her eyes back to Krys. “This yo’ nigga?”

Krys opened her mouth to deny, to clarify, to stop the foolishness before it could even start.

But before she could get a word out, Kenyatta had the audacity to chuckle and say, “Yeah, I’m her nigga.”

Krys snapped her head toward him, eyes blazing.

Nigga, WHAT!

Tyra gasped, dramatic as hell. “Oh, you real different now, huh? You went and got you a lil’ hood nigga?”

Kenyatta, clearly enjoying this way too much, leaned back in the seat, arms stretched over the headrest, looking smug. “You approve?”

Tyra whistled low. “Oh, I approve.” She looked him up and down again before biting her lip playfully. “Shit. You got any brothers?”

Krys groaned. “Tyra, please. Isn’t your man here with you?”

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