Page 6 of A Kingpin’s Weakness

Seth

Seventy-two hours. That’s how long it’d been, and Ronnie still didn’t have shit; no word on who shot Noah or no leads on who ran off with the work. From the outside looking in, you’d think he didn’t give a damn. Still moving the same, still chasing liquor and pussy like nothing happened.

Ronnie’s head clearly wasn’t in the game, and I couldn’t afford for that to mess with mine. So, I called a meeting for tomorrow. Full crew. I wanted everyone there. Somebody had answers, and I was going to get them one way or another.

Now I stood in the middle of the warehouse, boots planted, eyes locked on the bay doors as two semi-automatic trucks pulled in.

My crew moved fast, unloading the shipment like clockwork.

Normally, this drop would’ve happened before sunrise, but I pushed it back as far as I could.

Delays were dangerous in our business, but not as dangerous as being unprepared.

After what happened with Ronnie and Noah, I wasn’t taking chances.

That’s why both Rich and Southside were posted up with me. I needed extra eyes on the product. Extra hands if things went left. Because in this game, when people start getting sloppy, that usually means somebody’s plotting to die or somebody’s about to.

“Noah still ain’t woke up?” Rich asked, his voice low as he pulled on his joint, smoke curling around his face like fog around the truth.

“Nah,” I said, jaw tight. That shit was starting to eat at me.

Rich nodded, like he already expected that. “You really think you can trust his sister?”

“I got a nurse watching his room.” And Stormi didn’t strike me as the type to cross a line without reason. She had fight in her, but she wasn’t reckless. Still, I wasn’t na?ve. I played chess, not checkers.

Rich exhaled a slow stream of smoke and narrowed his eyes toward the open bay. “Something tellin’ me Ronnie set that kid up.”

Then he turned and walked toward the trucks, counting inventory like it was just another day in the life like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of my thoughts. But I stood there. Still and silent. Rich wasn’t the only one with that gut feeling.

Something about all this didn’t sit right.

The timing. The setup. Ronnie’s whole vibe since the shooting.

Noah was the only one who knew exactly what went down in that warehouse.

And until he opened his eyes and spoke on it, I was stuck piecing together a puzzle with too many dirty hands on the board.

I stayed at the warehouse a little longer, watching the crew finish the drop before sliding out.

My next stop was picking up my son, S3, from his mama’s house.

We did a week-on, week-off split; my week, her week.

Took a bunch of court dates, lawyers, and back-and-forth mediation to get there.

Imani thought she was gon’ be the type of baby mama who held the kid hostage like a pawn in a game.

Thought she could control when and where I saw my son.

The first time she pulled that card, I hit up my lawyer and filed for custody the next damn day.

Imani had already dragged me through hell during her pregnancy.

Accusations, mood swings, disappearing for weeks then popping back up like nothing happened.

I wasn’t about to deal with that mess for the next 18 years.

I wasn’t perfect but when it came to my kid, I didn’t play.

I pulled up to her four-bedroom single-family home.

Quiet street, decent lawn, new shutters I had installed last spring.

I’d bought the crib for her the moment the DNA test came back and confirmed he was mine.

I needed my son to be just as comfortable with her as he was at my place.

It wasn’t about her. It was about S3. He didn’t ask to be here.

And I’d be damned if he ever felt like he was missing anything.

Hearing his laugh echo from the backyard did something to my chest…

something soft I didn’t even try to fight.

I rounded the house, slid through the side gate, and stepped into the yard.

There he was. S3, bouncing between the trampoline and the basketball hoop with two of his little homies from the neighborhood.

Big smile on his face, shirt slightly crooked, one sock halfway off like always. My boy.

“Daddy!” he shouted, spotting me before I could even call out.

He ran full speed like his feet couldn’t touch the ground fast enough, and I scooped him up without hesitation.

His little arms wrapped around my neck tight, and I held him close.

Held on like time wasn’t moving as fast as it was.

S3 had just turned six, and I swear, every time I saw him, he looked taller, more grown.

His baby face was thinning out, his voice getting louder, more confident.

I knew these moments these daddy’s home hugs weren’t gonna last forever.

So, I soaked it up. All of it.

“You ready to roll with me, champ?”

“Yeah! Can we stop for ice cream?” he asked, already working the charm.

I chuckled. “We’ll see. Gotta check if you’ve been behaving first.”

He grinned, knowing damn well the answer didn’t matter. I was already pulling the keys from my pocket.

“Hey, baby daddy.” Imani’s voice rang out like a siren wrapped in perfume and trouble.

She made her way toward me and S3, hips swaying like she was still the baddest thing walkin’.

I won’t lie, Imani was beautiful, always had been.

But beauty only went so far when your mind stayed stuck in the same hood you were raised in.

She never wanted more, she just wanted to look like more.

Imani got off on being the baby mama of the city’s biggest kingpin. She chased clout like it paid the bills, always showing out with her little crew, fucking with any dude who could keep her dipped in Gucci and Prada. I used to care. Now I just stayed focused on one thing: my son.

“I know it’s not your week,” she said, flipping her weave over her shoulder like we were cool. “But a last-minute trip came up, and I couldn’t miss out.”

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t ask no questions. I didn’t care.

“Staci man flyin’ all her girls out for the weekend,” she added, like that explained everything.

“S3,” I said calmly, “go use the bathroom and clean yourself up so we can go.”

I heard the music thumping from inside, bass heavy, cheap hookah smoke probably clouding the living room.

I followed my son inside. I didn’t care who Imani had in her house when I bought it, I told her it came with no strings.

But I did care who was around my son. This life I lived? I couldn’t afford to be careless.

I didn’t let nobody know where I laid my head. Imani, even with me movin’ her out to the burbs behind a damn security gate, still managed to turn her home into a trap full of freeloaders and bad decisions.

As soon as I stepped inside, the room went quiet, eyes on me like I was some urban legend. Imani followed close behind, her energy shiftin’. She always tried to act like we were still something. Still had something.

What she didn’t know was the day I questioned whether my opps might’ve been S3’s real father, was the day I made a vow. I’d never touch her again. It had been six years, and she still clung to hope like it was a Birkin bag.

“Hey, Seth,” one of her girls purred, bold enough to speak. She used her mouth. The rest of them just used their eyes; hungry and disrespectful.

I shook my head. These were the women Imani surrounded herself with. Girls who’d fuck me the second she turned her back. Girls with no loyalty. No code. But how could I expect any difference when Imani barely respected herself?

I glanced around once, then leaned back against the wall near the hallway waiting for my son. I wasn’t here for drama. I was here for S3. And when it came to him, I didn’t play.

“Can we talk?” Imani’s voice trailed behind me, soft but pressing.

I still hadn’t looked at her since I walked inside. Didn’t plan to, either. She tugged lightly at my arm, trying to guide me toward the bedroom. I already knew what that was about; just another show for her nosy-ass friends, like we were still something behind closed doors.

I let her lead the way. Once we got in the room, I didn’t move to sit. I just stood near the door, arms folded.

“What up?”

“I want to work things out,” she said, her eyes trying to pull sympathy from mine. “Try and give S3 a real family.”

“We don’t have to be together to give him that.”

“S3 wants his parents together.”

I raised a brow. “He told you that?”

I saw him almost every day. I picked him up from school, even when it wasn’t my week. I knew what made my son laugh, what made him cry, what nightlight he needed to fall asleep. Not once had he told me he wanted his mama and I back together.

“Yes,” she said flatly.

“I’ll talk to him.”

Imani scoffed, arms crossed. “And say what?”

She said it like she didn’t trust me with my own son’s heart.

“I’ll explain to him that’s not going to happen.”

Yeah, it sounded cold, blunt even, but it wouldn’t come out that way when I said it to my son. I wasn’t about to lie to S3. I’d listen to what he felt, then help him understand. That his mama and I were still his family, but not like that. Never like that.

Imani narrowed her eyes, right as S3 came running into the room full speed like a little whirlwind. Saved by the kid.

“You ready, Jit?”

I asked, grabbing S3 by the back of his head and guiding him out of his mama’s room. I didn’t give Imani the chance to keep dragging this pointless conversation. She trailed us all the way out to the truck, arms folded, lips poked, attitude heavy.

I buckled S3 in the backseat, checking to make sure he was good before I turned to face her one last time.

“I’m serious, Seth.”

“I am too.”

She sucked her teeth, arms still locked across her chest like that was supposed to make me fold. Nah. I’d already been there, done that, and healed from the burn.