Page 84 of Cuffed By Your Love

“Jonay!” My own voice came raw, cracked, like I could drag her out of the phone line.

Then… nothing. Silence so loud it punched me dead in the chest.

“E, she blacked out,” Chambers muttered, scanning the GPS. “We two minutes out.”

Two minutes felt like a damn year. My jaw ached from clenching. Every muscle in my forearm was flexed like I was already swinging. I replayed every smile she gave me, every time she tucked her chin and tried to act like she wasn’t falling for me. The thought of her lying there, hurt and scared, had my vision narrowing to a tunnel.

We pulled up crooked, one tire hitting the curb, and I was out before the car even stopped.

The Nourish Nook’s glass doors flew open for me like they knew better than to test me, like even the hinges didn’t want no smoke with the storm I was dragging in. Inside smelled like cornbread and peaches, incense hanging thick like Sunday prayer, but all I tasted was iron, blood filling my mouth, and it wasn’t even mine yet.

Phones were out everywhere, customers recording, their cameras flashing like cheap lightning. The crowd shifted back as soon as I stepped through, whispers bouncing off the aisles. But my eyes didn’t see them. They searched past the glow of screens, past the gawkers.

And then I saw her.

Jonay.

On the ground by the fruit bins, guarded by two brothers from the store, like they knew somebody had to protect what that bastard had broken. Her cheek was swelling, her lips trembling, and one eye was already starting to puff. My heart stuttered, then sprinted. My chest caved in and erupted all at once. That was my woman. My rib. My crown. My heart. And some bitch-ass coward thought he could put his fucking hands on her?

That was when I saw him.

Kam.

Everything tunneled. My jaw locked. My fists clenched. My vision rimmed in red. Rage coiled in me like a live wire sparking loose.

The crowd felt it too.

“Oooh shit, this fine ass police ’bout to crash out in this bitch.”

“As he fuckin’ should. That bitch ass nigga put his hands on that pretty lil’ mama over there by the fruit.”

“I hope he fuck him up. I can’t stand 12, but that nigga was wrong as fuck.”

And Kam… that fool opened his mouth.

“Yo’ bitch ass can get the same shit she just got. I’m sick of you and yo’ bitch runnin’ ya fuckin’ mouth about me.”

That was it. Match struck. House on fire.

He swung first, wild and sloppy. And I thanked God for making him that dumb. Every camera caught it—him starting it. That was the only invite I needed.

I snatched his wrist mid-air, yanked him forward, and buried my fist in his chest so hard it made a hollow thump, like I knocked the wind he owed God clean out of him.

“Uhhhhn! Fuckkk!” Kam’s cry cracked, spit flying.

I didn’t stop.

Two to the ribs.Crack, crack!My knuckles sank into him, each strike sounding like dry wood splitting. He screamed high-pitched, ragged. “Gahhh, fuck! Nigga, ahh, shit!”

My knee shot up into his gut.Whump. His whole body folded in half like a busted lawn chair. “Huuughh, ahhh! Can’t—fuck—breathe!” His gasps were wet, desperate.

The crowd howled.

“Daaaamn, 5-0 got them hands!”

“Shit, couldn’t be me.”

“Getting ya ass whupped by 12 is crazy work, bruh, but ya bitch ass deserved that, puttin’ ya hands on a lady!”