Page 151 of Invisible Bars
We shared a laugh, then talked a little more—joked about the dinner coming up, who’d show out the most, and whether Dessign was going to pull up with music blasting again. Then we both headed to the crib.
At the next red light, my phone dinged.
Instagram Messenger: Deoka.
“Hey... you look good in that last photoshoot. Real good. Can I see you sometime?”
I stared at the message. No emotion crossed my face. No hesitation. Blocked.
I tossed the phone into the passenger seat, leaned back, and exhaled.
Naji wasn’t just a pretty face or a good lay I hadn’t had yet—she was mine… and not in a possessive way either. I meanminein that sacred, stupid, frustrating way that makes a man turn down pussy just to keep his own damn word about not cheating.
I wastryingto do right by Naji—trying to prove I could be more than a title or a threat. That I could be a man she could trust, not just tolerate. That I could protect her without caging her. I had been doing…aight, but I strived to do better.
Chapter Twenty-Three
NAJI
“R-remind me to stay inside the rest of the summer,” I complained, even though I was sitting under the AC with a cold bottle of water in my hand.
“Satan’s breath got the block on fire!” I blurted suddenly, nearly dropping the bottle of water.
From the front seat, I swore I heard the driver snicker—one of those quick, caught-off-guard laughs that slipped before you could stop it.
I side-eyed Imanio to see if he’d scold him, but instead, he just smirked—trying not to show it, but I caught it anyway.
That was the day of my doctor’s appointment. My neurologist, Dr. Camden, was uptight, clinical, and always about thirty seconds away from sweating clean through his lab coat. He’d been my doctor since I moved to New York, so he knew my entire history, my dosage preferences, the things that made my tics worse, and the rare moments that calmed them. So even with how much my life had flipped lately, it only made sense that I stuck with him.
Even in summer, the streets never slept, which made Imanio even more cautious. Heinsistedon bringing six bodyguards like I was some celebrity. Imanio arranged it so that we didn’t gothrough the front. Instead, we entered through the back—past the dumpster and delivery door—surrounded on both sides by all the towering men in shades, including Imanio. I felt like I was sneaking into the Grammys just to get my brain chemistry checked.
“Do I look like Beyoncé?” I muttered to Imanio as we slipped through the narrow hallway.
He smirked. “Nah. You look like the girl Beyoncé would’vehiredif she needed to disappear.”
I smacked my lips.
Once we were in the room, Dr. Camden barely had time to open his mouth before Imanio made his presence known.
He stepped forward, arms folded, posture relaxed—but that quiet tension radiating off him said otherwise.
Dr. Camden looked up from his tablet, startled.
“Uh… Miss Ali. I see you brought someone today.”
Imanio was the only person in the room with me. The bodyguards were instructed to go back outside and wait until I was done.
Imanio didn’t smile. “Yeah. Someone who doesn’t like cameras, gossip, or people who forget how easy it is to lose a medical license.”
Dr. Camden cleared his throat, hands suddenly too still, as if he’d forgotten what to do with them.
“I’m only going to say this once,” Imanio continued, tone calm but sharp. “Whoever youthinkyou see here today… you didn’t. You don’t speak on me, you don’t write about it, and if I find out otherwise…” He tilted his head just slightly. “Let’s just say I won’t need a referral to teach you a lesson.”
The poor man fidgeted behind his glasses, throat working overtime as his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously.
“I—I assure you… I’m bound by HIPAA!”
“Good,” Imanio cut in. “Then we understand each other.”
