Page 21 of Invisible Bars
So when my mama started spitting that shit about me “hanging around the wrong people,” that shit went through one ear and out the other. Hell, I’d cut ties withherbefore I turned my back onhim. Giselle didn’t know him like I did. She didn’t see the nights that nigga talked me off a ledge or kept a bullet from leaving the chamber because he knew how to distract me just enough to breathe again.
Chiwasfamily, and he earned that title with his loyalty, his silence when needed, and his mouth when it mattered most. So nah, I wasn’t trying to hear shit negative about him… notever.
Chapter Four
NAJI
After dozing off toGenius, the show I’d been binge watching, I woke up around midnight with a craving for my usual peppermint tea that I made faithfully. I had come to rely on that soothing ritual. The warm tea helped calm my nerves and effectively kept my tics at bay when they threatened to break through.
Standing up, I secured my robe around me and tiptoed out of the bedroom with my fuzzy socks whispering against the steps and an empty mug in hand. I was hoping for quietness, but silence had other plans.
Low voices drifted up from the lounge floor below, just beneath me. Instinctively, I crouched and peered through the slats of the railing that overlooked Blu Notes. The lights were dim—the club clearly closed—but three figures moved in the shadows near the stage.
I squinted.
Blu stood in front of a man, near the edge of the stage, his arms stretched slightly like he was pleading or trying to reason with him. There was another guy sitting coolly in a chair nearby, elbows on the table, and a gun resting in front of him like it was part of the centerpiece.
My chest tightened. I felt like every breath might be my last if I made the wrong sound. My palms dampened, sweat prickling at the back of my neck, and I could hear my own heartbeat pounding like it was trying to run without me. That gun wasn’t pointed at me, but it might as well have been.
Lord, what did I walk into?
“Come on, man! I—I got caught up!” Blu stammered, visible sweat beading down his bald head. “I had some unexpected bills to come my way! I just need a lil’ more time!”
Thefine, dangerous-looking man who was seated, rose slowly, his movements deliberate and controlled.
Even from the stairs, I could feel it—the air shifting, thick with tension.
“Now, Blu, correct me if I’m wrong,” he said, his voice soft but laced with menace, “but you said you needed more time the last time we talked. It’s been six weeks, nigga… six weeks too long. That’s not ‘needing time,’ that’s spitting in my face.” His words cut through the dimly lit room like shards of glass, sharp and unforgiving.
Blu’s eyes darted like a cornered animal and his hands trembled like a man already halfway buried.
“Gatez, I’ll get it together! I promise! Just give me a few more weeks and I got you!”
Gatez?My pulse spiked, the name crashing through my chest like a warning bell. I’d heard it before—I knew I had.
It hit me then: one night, weeks ago, I walked up on Blu and overheard him talking to someone on the phone. His voice was low and urgent, like he was discussing something too dangerous to even be discussed over the phone. But I’d never forget that name mentioned—Gatez.I didn’t get much more out of the conversation other because the second Blu spotted me, the conversation ended. He forced a smile and switched topics so fast it almost gavemewhiplash. I didn’t press it, didn’t ask,but the way he shut down told me all I needed to know: WhoeverGatezwas, he wasn’t just a name. He was power, he was fear, and apparently, he was the man standing in that room.
Gatez moved like a thundercloud—slow, dark, and full of destruction just waiting to strike.
“Now, either you think I’m stupid… or suicidal,” he said, with a chilling calm.
Blu stumbled back a step; his hands raised in a futile gesture of surrender. “Neither!”
“You know how many times I heard that shit?”
“Plenty,” the other guy answered before Blu could, now leaned against the piano like that was casual entertainment with a cold beer in his hand.
His tone carried no sympathy, just confirmation—as if Blu’s excuses were part of a script they’d already rehearsed a hundred times.
“Look,” Blu prepared to explain, “I thought I had a deal lined up?—”
Gatez scoffed, cutting him off with a sound that was more expressive of disdain than humor.
“You think I give a damn about your little fantasy deals? Your wishful thinking doesn’t pay debts.” His tone never rose. It didn’t have to. There was something far more threatening in how calm he stayed.
“Gatez, I just need a few more weeks! I’ll get it together, I promise! Don’t kill me, man! I’m begging you! I’ll make it right—whatever you want, I’ll do it. Y’all want free drinks? You wanna throw a party here? Shut the place down for a weekend or two, it’s yours! Just don’t do this! Not like this!”
“Free drinks?” the nameless guy scoffed. “Nigga, the only thing getting poured tonight is blood.
