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T he streets of South Central had always been my home. To most, it was a battlefield—a place where you either survived or got swallowed whole. But for me, it was the foundation of everything I’d built. I wasn’t born into money, privilege, or connections. I was born into chaos. My parents were gone before I was old enough to even understand what I’d lost. The streets raised me, but my grandmother was the one who kept me from completely losing myself.

She used to tell me, “The world don’t owe you shit, so take what you can and make it yours.” Those words stayed with me. They drove me. I wasn’t content with small-time hustling. I wanted more. I wanted an empire.

That’s how I met Damier Knight. I was just eighteen when I tried to hustle on Knight family turf. Back then, I thought I was smarter than the game. I wasn’t afraid of anyone. But when Damier caught me, he didn’t punish me like I thought he would. He saw something in me—potential, ambition, hunger.

He told me, “You’re either going to burn out trying to do it on your own, or you can let me show you how to make real money. What’s it gonna be?”

I chose wisely.

Over the years, I earned my spot in the Knight family, proving myself time and time again. I wasn’t just a loyal soldier—I became a partner. Damier taught me the game, and I brought my own spin to it. Legit businesses, smart investments, and clean fronts. By the time I hit thirty, I wasn’t just surviving; I was thriving. A multi-millionaire with real estate, car dealerships, juice bars, and other ventures under my belt. On paper, I looked like just another successful businessman, but behind the scenes, I was still ride-or-die for the Knight family.

Loyalty was everything to me. And in this life, loyalty wasn’t just about words—it was about action. You handled business, no matter how dirty it got.

That’s why I was at one of my juice bars on Crenshaw late that night. To most people, it was just a trendy spot with overpriced smoothies and acai bowls. But for me, it was another cog in the Knight family machine—a place to move money and keep things looking clean.

I parked my matte black Range Rover in the reserved spot out front, stepping into the crisp LA night air. The neon glow of the juice bar’s sign cast a soft light over the street, but I wasn’t there to admire the ambiance.

Inside, the employees straightened up the moment they saw me. I didn’t need to say anything—they knew who I was. Marcus, my manager, gave me a quick nod, and I made my way to the back office.

The safe was open, with stacks of cash spread out on the desk. Marcus and another worker were counting, their hands moving quickly as they logged everything. I leaned against the doorframe, watching for a moment before speaking.

“How’s it looking?” I asked, my tone calm but sharp.

Marcus nervously adjusted his glasses. “Everything’s clean so far, boss. We’ll have the drop ready by midnight.”

I nodded, satisfied. “Good. Keep it tight. And tell the crew out front to relax. Don’t make it obvious. We don’t need anyone asking questions.”

Marcus nodded quickly, and I left them to their work. I trusted Marcus—he’d been with me for years. But in this game, trust only went so far. I’d learned the hard way that even the most loyal soldier could turn if the stakes were high enough.

After leaving the juice bar, I had another task on my plate. Damier had asked me to keep an eye on Kita. Something about her didn’t sit right with him, and when Damier had a hunch, he was usually right.

I parked a few blocks away from her spot, keeping my lights off as I watched her apartment. The streets were quiet, the dim glow of streetlights casting long shadows.

An hour passed, and I was starting to think this was a waste of time. But then, I saw her. Kita stepped out of her building, glancing over her shoulder like she was nervous. She was dressed casual—jeans and a hoodie—but the way she moved told me she was trying to avoid being seen.

I started the engine, keeping a safe distance as I followed her. She wasn’t going far—just a couple of blocks to a run-down motel. The kind of place where bad decisions were made and nothing good ever happened.

I parked across the street and waited, watching as she slipped inside. My gut told me to stay put, and a few minutes later, the door opened again.

That’s when I saw him.

Damian.

He stepped out of the motel, lighting a cigarette with that same smug look he always had. It didn’t sit right with me. Damian was supposed to be laying low, not meeting up with Kita at some shady motel.

I stayed parked, watching him for another twenty minutes. My mind raced with possibilities. Was Kita playing both sides? Was Damian pulling her into one of his schemes? Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

I couldn’t sit on this. Damier needed to know.

As I drove toward the Knight Estate, the city lights blurred past me. My thoughts were a mix of loyalty and frustration. Damian had always been a problem—a loose cannon, a liability. And now, he was making moves that could put everything the Knight family had built at risk.

And Kita… if she was involved, it would be a betrayal that Damier wouldn’t take lightly.

The gates to the Knight Estate loomed ahead, opening smoothly as I approached. I parked my Range Rover and sat for a moment, taking a deep breath.

This wasn’t just about me. It wasn’t even just about the Knight family. This was about preserving the empire, about making sure no one— not even Damian —tore it apart.

I stepped out of the car and headed inside, ready to tell Damier what I’d seen. It was time to handle this once and for all.