Page 48 of Certified Pressure
“Give it here!” he shouted, reaching for the EpiPen.
“I got it,” I said quickly, already moving to kneel beside her.
He stared at me, but I kept my hand steady and found the side of her thigh. “It has to go into her outer muscle,” I said confidently. “I got this.”
I clicked off the safety cap, pressed the orange tip to her leg, and pushed until I heard the hiss. Her body jolted slightly, and for a second, nobody said a word.
“Come on. Don’t let her die.”
A few seconds passed, then her chest rose. Not just a weak breath, but a full one. Then another. Her fingers stopped clawing at her throat, her eyes blinked, and she looked around like she didn’t know where she was.
“She’s okay,” I whispered, fake tears in my eyes as I leaned back on my heels. “She’s breathing.”
Pressure’s eyes were locked on Zaniyah, but I could feel his energy shift. His hand was still on her back, but his head turned toward me slowly, his eyes narrowing, like he couldn’t believe I knew what to do.
The other women started crowding in, their voices rising, their faces full of worry, but I blocked them out. I stayed kneeling on the floor, my hair slightly out of place and breathing hard, like I had just ran a marathon to be the hero. I looked up at Pressure with wide eyes and said, “I remembered what she told me about having some sort of nut allergy and that she kept anEpiPen in her bag. I just—I couldn’t let her die, Pressure. I had to help.”
Pressure didn’t nod, give me a pat on the back or a slow blink of approval. He stood up like his whole body was filled with rage, his jaw tight and voice thunderin’ through the dining room.
“Who the fuck put nuts in the goddamn food?!”
Everybody froze. The girls, the chefs, even Zaniyah, who was still laid out recovering, flinched a little at the sound of his voice.
Pressure turned toward the kitchen staff, his finger pointed like a trigger. “Y’all knew she had a fuckin’ allergy? Did she tell y’all? Huh? Somebody tryna kill in my fuckin’ house now?”
One of the chefs stepped forward, their palms raised, shaking his head fast. “No, sir. No nuts were used, I swear to you. We triple-check every ingredient. That wasn’t us.”
Another chef chimed in, nervous as hell. “She asked about ingredients earlier, and we told her there were no nuts in the crab cakes. Breadcrumbs, herbs, seasoning, lump crab—that’s it.”
Pressure looked down at Zaniyah, who was now sitting up with her hand on her chest, her eyes watery but focused. “You told them you had an allergy?”
She nodded weakly. “I did. I asked them. I told them I was allergic to pistachios. They said I was good…”
Pressure looked like he was about to flip the entire dining table. “She could’ve fuckin’ died. In my house. On my damn floor. Y’all gotta be more careful around this muthafucka!”
The room was quiet except for Zaniyah’s shallow breathing and a few girls whispering, trying to make sense of what just happened.
“I don’t play about people’s lives,” Pressure snapped, his eyes cutting back toward the chefs. “Somebody better figure out what the fuck went wrong, and y’all better do it fast.”
After Pressure finally calmed down, he turned to me. “Thanks for lookin’ out. You savin’ a life is major.”
I stayed still, letting the storm swirl around me, but I knew this was the moment.
He was no longer brushing me off like some loudmouth with a slick tongue. Right now, he was looking at me like I mattered, and that I stepped up when everybody else froze.
And that was the whole point…
Zaniyah coughed hard, then winced and mumbled, “Yeah, thanks Imani.”
That’s all I needed to hear. I stood up and backed away, giving Zaniyah space as one of the chefs came running in with water and towels. The whole room had flipped from laughter and eating good food to emergency and panic. People were shaking their heads, wiping tears, holding their chests likedamn, that was close. And through it all, I stood still, calm and in control. Because deep down, I knew I had just secured my spot.
I had taken a gamble, put a woman’s life on the line and won. None of these other bitches in this house had that kind of drive. They flirted and joked and argued about simple shit, but they weren’t willing to actuallyfightfor Pressure. Not like me…
Trill-Land, Jungle Estate
“Man… this shit gettin’ too crazy,” I said to Renza and Kay’Lo, exhalin’ slow as I leaned back in my chair. The blunt burned between my fingers, but it wasn’t even hittin’ the way I needed it too. My nerves was still hot from earlier.
Zaniyah could’ve died in my fuckin’ mansion.
