Page 10 of A Kingpin’s Weakness

Seth

The goal was always the same: make it home.

I stood in the center of the warehouse, eyeing every man in the room, letting the silence stretch long enough to make ‘em uneasy.

“Most of y’all got families,” I said finally, my voice sharp, cutting through the chill in the air. “I got a son. We ain’t got room for dumb moves.”

Ronnie, loud and twitchy as ever, leaned back and took a long drag from his blunt. That shit was laced. You could smell the white girl cooked right into the wrap. His eyes were glassy, unfocused.

“Man,” he said, voice thick, “let’s just call the elephant out in the room.”

Before I could respond, the warehouse door creaked open and Southside walked in, ten minutes late, but with purpose.

“Ain’t no elephant,” he said coolly. “We all know this meeting’s ‘cause of you.”

Ronnie clammed up. The weight in Southside’s voice didn’t ask for respect, it demanded it. He walked over and handed me a duffle. Heavy. The kind of heavy that smelled like new money and closed mouths. We dapped up.

“Thanks for handling that,” I told him.

“Always.” He nodded.

Ronnie muttered under his breath, “Looks like money still movin’.”

I turned, slow and deliberate, until I was facing him fully. “Money always moves,” I said. “I could make money in my fuckin’ sleep, Ronnie. That don’t mean the feds ain’t out here building a RICO. This shit… It ain’t about the money. It’s about how you move.”

I took a step forward, steady, and unblinking. “I built this from the ground up. Blood, loss, hustle. No shortcuts. And I’ll be damned if you or some 17-year-old with a death wish bring that shit down.”

Around us, a few of the soldiers nodded.

“Respect,” one mumbled.

“Facts,” another added.

I let my gaze sweep across the room. “Y’all run your corners how you want. That’s your business. But the second your mess starts spilling over into my house? We got a fuckin’ problem.”

I glanced at Ronnie. He didn’t speak, but his stare said enough. Ronnie was skating on thin ice, and we all knew it.

“I don’t like noise,” I continued. “I don’t like heat.

We here to get money, go home, feed our people.

That’s the code. You break it…” I paused, letting it hit.

“I’ll kill for mine. I don’t like killin’ but I will.

I ain’t afraid to bleed. I ain’t afraid to pull the trigger my damn self. You understand?”

“Understood,” came the chorus.

“No doubt.”

“Yeah, boss.”

“Keep it low. Keep it smart. Stay humble. None of us untouchable. But the right moves keep you alive longer. Think about who you live for. Think about what you’re willing to die for.”

I scanned the room again. These weren’t just bodies in a warehouse. I’d been to these men’s weddings, their kids’ birthday parties. I’d eaten at their mama’s houses.

“I don’t ever want to be the one knockin’ on your door,” I said quietly. “Don’t want to have to look your girl in the eye, or hold your son while I tell him his daddy ain’t comin’ home.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the duffle still at my feet.

“This ain’t about ego,” I finished. “It’s about survival. Run clean. Stay quiet. Move smart.” I gave them one last look, then turned toward the exit. “Let’s get this money and make it the fuck home.”

“Anybody wanna add something?” I asked, eyes sweeping the room.

“Yeah,” Southside said, stepping forward. “Ronnie, how the fuck you about to fix this fuck-up?”

Ronnie leaned back in his chair, unbothered. “I got this, young buck. No need to question me. Remember, I’m an OG.”

Southside smirked. “Well, OG, how the fuck you make a rookie-ass mistake then? That old people disease kicking in?” A few laughs broke out. Ronnie wasn’t one of them.

“Alzheimer’s,” D muttered from the back with a deadpan tone.

Ronnie snapped his head around. “Man, shut the fuck up. We know you in medical school.”

D started walking forward, hand resting near his waist, strapped. “Nigga, you need a diagnosis.”

Ronnie squared his shoulders. “You think you the only one who carry a gun?”

“Come on with the bullshit, y’all,” Rich cut in, waving a hand to calm things down.

Josh stepped forward next, standing beside D, making it clear where he stood. “Ronnie, you know who the fuck stole your drugs? Or is that what’s laced in that blunt?”

Ronnie scoffed. “I don’t get high off my own supply, lil nigga.”

“Smell like it,” Josh said, nose wrinkled.

“Enough,” I said, cutting through the noise. The room fell silent. “Ronnie, you need to plant your feet. Get your people out in the streets. Ears and eyes open. 'Cause right now? It's looking like you don’t give a damn. There something you need to tell me?”

Ronnie crossed his arms. “My people handling it.”

“Then they need to do a better job,” Southside chimed in.

Josh muttered under his breath, “Been what? Three days? You can’t even take a Plan B after three days.”

Everyone paused. “…Nigga what?” Rich asked, looking at him sideways. We all cracked up for a moment, tension easing slightly.

Then Southside brought it right back. “I’m hearing it was an inside job, Ronnie.”

Ronnie’s face tightened. “Where you hear that bullshit? My people loyal.”

“Maybe to you,” Southside said. “But not that Jit laying in the hospital bed.”

Ronnie turned to me now. “Seth, get your people. I been in this game long enough to not be disrespected. I’m the reason you eating the way you are.”

I took a step forward. “Don’t ever get it twisted. I’m the reason I’m where I am.”

Rich nodded, stepping in. “Everybody knows that story, Ronnie. What you want? A gold star?”

Southside added, “If Big Seth was here, you wouldn’t have had to lift a finger.”

Rich’s voice was low now, serious. “Let’s talk about how many bodies he dropped for you. That’s the only reason you in the position you in now. So if we start checking balances, let’s really talk about who owes who.”

Rich was my right hand since the sandbox. Never folded, never flinched. S3’s godfather, my business partner, my brother in everything. And right now? He was ready for war.

Ronnie glared. “Get your lapdog, Seth.”

“Lapdog?” I echoed, raising a brow.

Before I could say another word, Rich had Ronnie pinned to a pole, gun shoved straight in his mouth.

“Make my night,” he growled.

Mike started to move toward them. “And I dare you to fucking move,” I said, my pistol now aimed at the side of his head.

"You gonna end him?" I asked Rich, my tone calm but firm.

"Say the word," Rich said, eyes locked on Ronnie, "and his brains’ll be all over this warehouse."

"And I’ll hand-deliver his body to his mama’s house," I said. "But if you not about to end that nigga, put the pistol down and go jump in some pussy. You need to relax."

Rich smirked. "Says the nigga who don’t got no in-house pussy."

Then crack! He knocked Ronnie clean out, one hit to the jaw. Ronnie dropped like dead weight. Rich strolled back to his seat like nothing happened.

"Don’t mean I don’t get none on the regular," I muttered, shaking my head. I looked down at Ronnie. "Get your operation under control so the rest of us can get back to regular programming."

"This nigga think he bigger than the program," Rich said, cutting his eyes at him.

I faced the crew, made it clear. " Stay loyal. Keep your eyes open. And we gonna keep eating. Meeting adjourned.”

It was late. Long-ass day. All I wanted to do was hit the shower, roll up, and kick back in bed with some old documentaries playing in the background and let my brain chill for once.

One by one, everybody started dapping each other up, heading out the warehouse. Mike bent down and helped Ronnie off the floor slow, like he was still trying to hold on to what was left of his pride. From the look he gave Rich, I could already tell this shit wasn’t over.

And I just hoped dude knew what lane to stay in. Rich? Rich was off-limits. Untouchable. Yeah, Ronnie might’ve been tight with my pops back in the day, but Rich? That’s my brother. Ten toes down since the sandbox. Ain’t no negotiating that. I’d end any nigga over him. Simple as that.

“How was dinner?” Rich asked, fake casual, like he wasn’t fishing for something.

I looked at him sideways. “Nigga, move with that shit. Fuck you mean how was dinner? Same way it is every Sunday.”

“Stormi’s sexy ass doesn’t always be at dinner.”

There it was. I cut him a look. “Man, watch out.”

Yeah, she was there. Looking good as hell too.

But I wasn’t about to give Rich the satisfaction.

He stayed trying to stir the pot anytime Stormi’s name got brought up.

And the thing was he wasn’t wrong. She was fine.

Thicker than cold grits, sweet voice, all that.

But that didn’t mean I was tryna talk about it.

Rich came at me with that usual grin, trying to rile me up. “So, tell me you don’t want her?”

I looked him dead in his eyes. “She fine as fuck, but I don’t do virgins. Too grown for that childish ass shit.”

Rich laughed like I was crazy. “Nigga got me fucked up. I’m the first and only nigga to get in that shit. I’m for sure locking in; might even start a family, let her know that’s my shit for life.”

I shook my head, trying not to laugh. “Man, back your silly ass up.”

He kept pushing. “So, you not stepping down on shortie?”

Before I could say anything, Southside popped up outta nowhere. “’Cause if you’re not, I will.”

Both of them were there with me that day at the hospital when we first saw Stormi.

Thick as hell, standing at the entrance, debating if she wanted to go in or bounce.

Even in those baggy sweats, all you could see was that ass.

And tonight, in those jeans? Man, her ass sat up like it was daring me to make a move.

Had me wanting to take shorty straight to my bed.

But a virgin? That was a headache I didn’t want.

I cracked a grin. “The only downfall is Jo for a mother-in-law.”

Southside and I both laughed. Everyone knew Jo was a whole mess. I felt for her kids; they had to deal with her 24/7.