Page 21

I know you need space, and I get that. But I can’t stop thinking about you. The truth is, I’ve never opened up to anyone like this, not even close, and it scares me. What we have means more than I ever let on. I’m not asking for things to be the same, but I need you to know that I’m trying to fix the mess I’ve made. I can’t fix everything overnight, but I’m committed to you. I’m committed to making us work. Please, don’t shut me out for good. I’ll prove I’m worth it if you give me the chance.

T he clock on my office wall ticked quietly, but my mind was far from the present moment. My desk, normally littered with files and paperwork, sat untouched. I hadn’t been able to focus on anything for the past two days. All I could think about was her— Dream .

I had tried reaching out. Twice . The texts I sent her were long—longer than I had ever written anyone. I didn’t do that. I didn’t open myself up to people, let alone beg them to let me back into their lives. But here I was, spilling words to her, asking for another chance. Asking for her to see me differently. I guess my going off the grid for a week had her in a frenzy, but I had to detach. I had killed Tay, and she revealed to me that Kita was behind the drugs. I had to get my mind right like she wanted me to. I was selfish, though. Here she was, trying to help me, and I was shutting her out. And now that she was doing it to me, I couldn’t stand it.

I missed her more than I cared to admit. The way she made me feel like I wasn’t just this cold, ruthless ass nigga—like I could be something more, something good. But now? I was nothing but a nigga who had pushed her away.

She told me to take care of my life. But how? How could I fix the mess I created? How could I fix everything—my empire, my family, the damage to myself—that I had ignored for so long?

It hit me like a gut punch every time I thought about her words: handle your life . She was right. I couldn’t fix what I was. But somehow, I wanted her to be part of the solution.

She didn’t answer my last text. Just left it unread. I wanted to give her space, but it didn’t stop the frustration from gnawing at me. I couldn’t let it go, and now the silence between us was more painful than anything.

I stood up from my desk, angry at myself. Angry that I couldn’t just let things be, angry that I had destroyed the one good thing I had.

I slammed the door to my office behind me, needing to get out, to do something—anything. I drove my Ferrari through the streets, the engine’s roar almost drowning out the thoughts pounding in my head. The world outside was blurred, nothing but a haze of streetlights and dark pavement. My mind kept circling back to Imani, her words, her eyes, and the way she’d looked at me when she walked away.

I didn’t want to waste any more time thinking about my personal shit. It was time for business. I was going to meet Lil Ken. I needed to focus. I drove straight to Calabasas, my Audi turning heads as I rolled up to the driveway of Lil Ken’s house.

His housekeeper let me in, and I was immediately escorted down a long hallway to Ken’s office. When I stepped inside, Ken didn’t bother with pleasantries. His fingers were already flying across his laptop. I didn’t have to say much. He knew the score.

I tossed the papers onto his desk. His eyes flicked over the names, scanning them quickly, as always. It wasn’t long before he narrowed in on one name— Cordale Ranklin.

I stood there, watching him work.

“Canada,” Ken muttered. “He’s hiding out in Toronto.”

I nodded. Canada, just like King told me. He’d really gone that far? It finally hit me that he was not in the United States. It was a hard pill to swallow. I should’ve expected him to run far, but part of me wanted to believe Damian would stay closer to home since he always needed money.

I nodded slowly, taking the papers with the information on Damian. “I knew that much. It’s not hard to get over there.”

“I’m sure you will handle it, my nigga. You always do.”

I left Ken’s and met up with my uncle.

I met Uncle King in the parking lot of my closed-down club. The place I had built and bled for was sitting in the dark, but I wasn’t dwelling on that. I had bigger problems.

King looked at me, his eyes scanning my face before he spoke. “So, Toronto. That’s where he is. We can’t even kill him there. We gotta drag his ass back here first.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, frustrated. “He’s hiding, but it doesn’t matter. We’re going after him. I’m not letting him get away with this.”

Uncle King gave a small nod, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes. “You know what you have to do with him. It’s not just about finding him. He’s made a mockery of this family. We teach him a lesson.”

I didn’t want to think about the lessons anymore. I wanted Damian back—damn whatever lesson needed to be taught. But King was right. I had to deal with the problems as they came.

“I know,” I said, the tension in my voice making my words sound heavier than I wanted them to. “But first, we take care of Kita and Troy. That Kita bitch played a dangerous game.”

King smiled, his face lighting up in that cold way it always did when things got messy.

“We’re doing that tomorrow night, but that bitch Kita is missing in action. She might be with Damian.”

“We’ll find that bitch, but I need to get some rest. A nigga been up for days. I gotta knock out so I can have a clear head for tomorrow.”

We went our separate ways, and I headed to my penthouse.

I returned home, but sleep didn’t come. I was hoping a hot shower would put me to sleep, but it didn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

I tossed and turned when I got in bed, frustration building in my chest. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to see her.

I got dressed in a sweatsuit, grabbed my keys, and left, driving through the dark streets until I was outside her house. My car’s engine growled to a stop, and I sat there for a moment, staring at the front door. I knew I shouldn’t be here. I knew I should leave her alone. But I couldn’t.

I got out of the car and pounded on her door.

Imani’s voice shouted from inside. “Go home, Damier!”

“No, open the fuckin’ door, Imani. Stop fuckin’ playin’ with me!”

I stood in front of her door, my knuckles aching from pounding on it. I knew I was pushing it, knew I was testing her patience, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t leave.

When she finally opened the door, her face was a mixture of sleep and irritation. She looked like she’d just been yanked out of a deep slumber, and I couldn’t help but notice the exhaustion in her eyes. But there was something else too—something sharp, something defensive.

“What, Damier? I called it off days ago, and you are clearly on bullshit,” she said, her voice low and steady, but I could hear the edge beneath it. She stepped back, holding the door open slightly as if she wasn’t sure if she should let me in.

“I need to talk to you,” I said, stepping forward without waiting for permission.

She sighed, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “About what? About how you’ve completely ignored everything I’ve said? About how I’ve asked you to handle your life, yet here you are, again, thinking you can just waltz back in whenever it suits you?”

My chest tightened at her words, but I wasn’t backing down. “You think I’m just here to use you? I’m not like that, Imani.”

She shook her head, her lips pressed together in frustration. “You really don’t get it, do you? You think I’m some kind of... placeholder for your problems. You want me to fix you. To make everything right, but you’re not willing to do the work. You want me to just be here, but I’m not a fucking crutch, Damier. I’m not going to let you keep using me to fill the voids in your life.”

Her words cut deeper than I expected. “I’m not using you,” I said, my voice thick with frustration. “I want you. I need you. You think this is easy for me? You think I want to keep hurting you, keep pulling away? But I’m fucking lost, Imani. I can’t even figure out where I’m going, let alone how to fix this.”

She shook her head again, her eyes flashing with emotion. “You don’t want help, Damier. You don’t want to change. You don’t want anything but to keep doing this, running from what’s inside of you. You think I’m here to just make you feel better about your life, but you haven’t even tried to fix yourself. You’ve got so much inside you, and I’m supposed to just be there for you?”

I felt my anger rising. She was right, and it fucking stung. But I didn’t want to hear it, not now, not from her.

“Maybe my mother was right,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “Maybe you’re just a distraction. A nice, pretty distraction from the shit I have to face every day. Maybe that is all I need from you—just someone to fill the space, to make me feel like I’m not a fuckin’ murderer.”

Her eyes widened, and she took a step back. “You really are narcissistic,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but the sting was enough to hit me where it hurt. “I won’t let you pull that shit on me, Damier. I won’t be another person you manipulate. I’m not here to fix you. I’m not here to be your excuse or your crutch. You need to fix your own mental health, but that’s something you need to do alone because I’m not going to keep pretending like I’m the one who can change you.”

I saw her turn to walk away, and something in me snapped. Without thinking, I grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward me with a force I didn’t even realize I had in me. She gasped, her eyes wide with surprise, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t stop. I was drowning, and she was the only lifeline I had.

“I’m not leaving,” I growled, my voice low and dangerous. “You think you can just walk away from me like this? After everything we’ve shared? After everything I’ve shown you?”

She tried to pull away, her chest rising and falling rapidly with every breath, but I wasn’t letting go. I wasn’t ready to let go of her.

“I’m not going no fuckin’ where,” I said again, this time softer but no less firm. My fingers gently cupped her jaw, tilting her face to mine. I saw the hesitation in her eyes, but the anger had already burned itself out. What was left between us was raw, stripped of all pretense.

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, I kissed her—hard. Her lips were warm against mine, and for a moment, all the noise in my head stopped. All the weight, all the tension disappeared. There was nothing but the feel of her—the softness of her lips, the way she melted into me.

She fought it at first, pushing back, but then she gave in, her arms going around my neck, pulling me closer. It was desperate, urgent. I needed her like I needed air, and I wasn’t going to let her walk away.

I kissed her again, deeper this time, my hands roaming to her waist, pulling her body against mine. She moaned softly in my mouth, the sound driving me wild, and in that moment, nothing else existed. Not my problems, not my empire, not my brother, not my damn mother, or the mess I was in. Just us.

But we couldn’t stay in that moment forever.

I broke the kiss, breathless, my forehead resting against hers. She looked up at me, her chest rising and falling as her eyes searched mine, filled with confusion, pain, and something else—something that was too complicated to name.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. I shouldn’t have come here. But I need you, Imani. I’m going to fix myself, I swear.”

She didn’t say anything; she just stared at me with those eyes—eyes that had seen too much, felt too much, yet still tried to understand me. But I knew she wasn’t sure anymore.

She stepped back from me slowly. I let her go, the emptiness inside me growing with every inch of space she put between us.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, my voice breaking as I turned to leave. I grabbed my jacket off the chair and walked toward the door, unable to look back at her, knowing that once I did, I wouldn’t be able to walk away.

When I opened the door, I heard her voice behind me. “Damier...” she called softly. I paused, my hand on the knob, but I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t.

“I’ll handle my life,” I said, my voice low. “I will. And when I’m ready... I’ll come back to you. But you need to be ready, too.”

I left without another word, the door closing softly behind me. I wanted every inch of her body, but I knew we weren’t ready for sex again.

I drove home in silence, the car humming beneath me, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on me with every mile. I wasn’t sure if I had made things better or worse. All I knew was that I had to do something. I had to fix my life.

And I couldn’t keep running from what I had with her.

As I stepped into the emptiness of my penthouse, the hollow feeling of being alone crept back in. I had made my choice, and now I had to live with the consequences.

I was ready for the fight ahead, for what was coming next. But somewhere deep inside, I knew it wouldn’t matter if I didn’t fix what was broken between us.

I had to be the one to change.