Page 75 of A Kingpin's Weakness
S3 kept talking about all the rides, and the snacks, and what kind of Mickey ears he’d wear. He had me laughing, but my eyes still kept flicking down to my phone.
Still no text. Still no call.
“He doesn’t call when he’s gone for work,” S3 said outta nowhere, like he read my mind. “He just comes back home.”
I blinked. This boy was only six and had more peace than me. Seth was doing something right with him.
“Let’s find a bedtime story,” I said, needing a shift.
I walked over to his little bookshelf, scanning for something new. I always loved reading to him. It reminded me of how I used to read to Noah at night, usually history or whatever I was studying, tryin’ to juggle homework and bedtime in the samebreath. Back then, I was just trying to survive. Now, I didn’t know what I was doing. But whatever it was, I hoped Seth would be home soon to do it with me.
CHAPTER 16
Seth
King had hit me up,said me, Rich, and Southside should slide through. One more night. One more celebration. Celebrate what, though?
Yeah, Ronnie was dead but so was my pops. So was Lia. Ain’t no part of me felt like celebrating. Not tonight. Not ever, really.
I sat on the edge of the suite bed, the TV on mute, phone face down on the nightstand. My knuckles still bruised from yesterday. My stomach twisted with something ugly. It wasn’t just grief it was guilt, too.
How the fuck didn’t my pops see Ronnie for who he really was? Shit. Maybe the same reason I didn’t. That’s what kept hitting me the hardest.
All that loyalty. All that brotherhood shit they used to talk. My pops went to war for Ronnie fed his family, gave him keys, gave him chances. And Ronnie repaid him by putting a bullet in his chest. And I ain’t see it either. Not until it was too late.
I poured a shot in silence instead. Something to numb the knot in my throat. Pops used to tell me,“Watch a man when he got nothin’, but watch him even closer when he think he got everything.”Guess that was Ronnie. Snake-ass nigga waited ‘tilhe thought he could take everything from us power, respect, and blood. And he did. He left us broken.
I leaned back on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling like it had answers. Stormi kept texting me. I seen ‘em. I just didn’t have the words. Not yet. Not with the weight I was carryin’. I ain’t wanna lie to her and say I was okay. And I damn sure wasn’t about to pull her into more darkness. She already been through enough. But even with all this shit swirling in me, her name kept pulling at my chest.
Stormi. The one soft thing in all this chaos. The only piece that felt real and clean when everything else around me was soaked in betrayal and blood.
I needed to hold her. I needed to breathe her in, just to remind myself I was still alive.
Rich, Southside, and I stepped off the jet like we’d just crawled out of a war zone.
Three days. That’s all it had been. But I swear I came back a different man than the one who left. My boots hit home soil, and it was like my heart hesitated in my chest. Home. But nothing felt right anymore.
“What’s the play?” Southside asked, tugging on his hoodie as a blacked-out SUV pulled up for him.
“Shit… headed to the house.”
“Can’t wait to get to Stormi ass.” He smirked.
I tried to smile, but it barely touched my face. “Says the nigga whose woman picked him up at 2 a.m. like a Lyft,” I threw back.
“Gotta hop in some pussy to clear my mind,” Southside said, laughing as he dabbed us both up and slid into the passenger seat of the SUV.
I watched the door shut and envied him. That boy had peace waiting on him. Arms, warmth, comfort. I had a house full of glass and ghosts.
I looked at Rich. “You wanna come to the crib?” I asked as we hopped into the truck and pulled off.
“Nah,” he said, voice low. “I’m goin’ to the crib. Catch a few zzz’s. Then head to Lia’s mama so we can make funeral arrangements.”
That sentence sucked all the air out the truck. His voice didn’t even break. That’s what scared me the most. He said it like he was numb. I felt it in my chest, the weight of what he just said. The war with Ronnie was over, yeah.
But we was still standing in the rubble. Funeral arrangements. Fuck.
“So catch some zzz’s at my shit,” I offered. “You can still hit her mama’s crib in the morning.”
