Page 6 of Heavy Is The Crown

She didn’t even turn around when she spoke. “Where you think you goin’?”

Kenyatta exhaled. Here we go. “Out, Mama. I won’t be back late.”

She cut the water off with force, finally turning around with that tight-lipped look only mothers knew how to perfect. “Out where?”

“Velvet Room.”

She folded her arms. “With who?”

He hesitated. “Jay-1.”

She closed her eyes like she had to physically keep herself from saying what she really wanted to say. “Mmhmm.”

Kenyatta tilted his head, annoyed already. “What?”

Traci shook her head, grabbing the towel off her shoulder. “Ain’t no ‘what.’ I already know how this gon’ go. Jay-1 come scooping you up, y’all runnin’ the streets all night, then somebody either getting locked up, shot at, or robbed.”

Kenyatta ran a hand over his head, frustrated. “Mama, come on. Ain’t nobody doing all that.”

“Ain’t you?” She arched a brow. “Boy, I done seen this shit play out too many times. You talk all that ‘I’m doin’ better’ talk, but soon as Jay-1 call, you hoppin’ in the car like you ain’t just get out.”

Kenyatta clenched his jaw. “I’m just tryna get out the house for a minute.”

Traci stared him down, her expression unreadable. Then she sighed, shaking her head. “Fine. Do what you want. But I ain’t comin’ to no jailhouse, and I damn sure don’t wanna come to no hospital wondering if you gon’ make it through the night.”

Nub, Kenyatta’s older brother, was deeply tied to The War Lords, a crew known for their ruthless enforcement in the streets. His reputation was built on fear, respect, and the kind of loyalty that came with bloodshed. Losing his left arm at the elbow as a teenager should’ve slowed him down, but it didn’t stop a damn thing.

Nub still moved like a man with two arms, still handled business with precision and force. His name carried weight, whispered in corners and spoken with caution. To Traci, he was still Quentin, the son she gave birth to, not the street goon he had become.

She had already watched him spend too many nights in the ICU, body riddled with bullets, doctors shaking their heads at his survival. She had prayed over him, begged him to leave that life behind, only for him to go right back.

By the time he had his last extended stay at Southside Haven Medical, Traci had made peace with the fact that he was never walking away. So, she let him go. This was her warning to Kenyatta. She had already given up on one son. If Kenyatta made the same choices, she wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

Kenyatta let out a sharp breath, already turning toward the door. “I’ll be back.”

She didn’t respond, just grabbed her Black & Mild, lit the tip, and took a deep pull.

Kenyatta stepped outside, pulling his hoodie up over his head, the damp night air hitting his skin.

He didn’t know what tonight was about to be, but for now; he just needed to breathe.

Chapter 2

Krys stared at her plate, her fork dragging through the remnants of what used to be a Michelin-star-level masterpiece, now reduced to a tragic wasteland of forgotten dreams. Across from her, Taurean, her sister’s perfect pick, was still talking.

And talking.

And talking.

“…so, I told my boss, ‘I don’t work overtime unless I’m getting paid overtime,’ you feel me? Ain’t nobody about to take advantage of me.”

Krys gave a slow, robotic nod, her soul actively trying to escape her body. She wasn’t listening.

Not even a little. Not even by accident.

This man had spent the past forty-five years—or thirty minutes, same thing—talking about himself; his job, his gym routine, his “crazy exes,” the time healmostgot drafted into the NBA, the time healmostopened his own business, the time healmostran into Denzel Washington at the airport, but it was just a man in glasses.

Krys took a slow, desperate sip of her wine, contemplating whether smashing the glass and faking an injury would be more effective than simply running out of the restaurant.

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