Page 3

Kenyatta sank into the butter-soft leather of Jay-1’s BMW, his fingers drumming against his knee as neon lights from The Red District flickered past the tinted windows. The city looked familiar, yet different; like a rerun of an old episode with just enough changes to make him feel out of place.

This side of Trinity Bay never slept. Known as The Devil’s Playground, the Red District was where morals went to die. Casinos, strip clubs, underground gambling dens, and high-end escort services all coexisted under the same flickering marquees.

To tourists, it was an adrenaline rush, a place to lose money, inhibitions, or both. To locals like him it was a reminder that sin paid well. Behind every VIP section, behind every private high-roller room, was somebody getting finessed, somebody getting extorted, and somebody controlling it all from the shadows.

And that somebody…well, everyone knew who ran the city.

Even now, as they rolled through the strip, Kenyatta overheard the mention of one name slipping through the air like a whispered prayer: K9.

“Man, K9 got this shit in a chokehold.”

“ You already know. Ain’t a move made in this city without K9 knowing .”

Kenyatta didn’t comment. He just listened. Because that was the thing about real power; it didn’t need to announce itself. Everybody just knew.

Jay-1, on the other hand, thrived in this world. He was still deep in the mix, still rubbing elbows with the same wolves Kenyatta used to run with. The same ones who were waiting to see if he’d fall back in line.

Kenyatta wasn’t ready to answer that question.

So, he didn’t.

Jay-1 weaved through traffic like the laws didn’t apply to him, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting his fitted cap. His gold chain caught the glow of passing streetlights, and his designer hoodie hung just right over his broad shoulders.

The smirk on his face was perpetual. The only time Jay-1 wasn’t grinning was when he was dead serious, and even then, he still might laugh just to piss somebody off.

Kenyatta sighed, watching the city unfold through the window.

Jay-1 glanced over, reading his body language instantly. “Damn, nigga, you sitting over there looking like a washed-up rapper tryna make a comeback.”

Kenyatta mocked. “And you look like a nigga that still owe his jeweler money.”

Jay-1 let out a loud laugh, smacking the wheel. “Aye, fuck you, bruh. You acting like you wasn’t out here shining before.”

Kenyatta exhaled, shaking his head. “I told you, man. I ain’t on that.”

Jay-1 sucked his teeth. “Yeah, yeah. Nigga out for a few weeks and suddenly he Malcolm X.”

Kenyatta side-eyed him. “Ain’t gotta be Malcolm to know I ain’t tryna do another bid.”

Jay-1 snorted. “Nigga, the way you living now, you already doing time. At least in the Feds you had a mattress. I know your mama couch got your back screaming.”

Kenyatta leaned back, flexing his jaw. Fuck Jay-1, but he wasn’t completely wrong; nor was he completely right. Kenyatta wasn’t trying to be broke forever, but he also wasn’t about to end up right back in a cell, either.

Jay-1 grinned. “Look, I ain’t tryna drag you into shit. We just chillin’ tonight. No work, no plays, just vibes.”

Kenyatta wasn’t dumb; nobody invited you out for “just vibes.”

Jay-1 was testing him. Seeing if prison had changed him. Seeing if he was still that same Kenyatta who moved without hesitation.

Honestly, Kenyatta wasn’t even sure if he knew the answer.

Jay-1 pulled up to The Velvet Room, a high-end lounge sitting in the heart of The Strip. The type of place where money whispered instead of screamed, where only the right people made it past the velvet rope.

Valet didn’t even ask for keys; they just took them like Jay-1 was somebody.

Kenyatta stepped out, adjusting his fresh sneakers and button-up. He wasn’t dressed like money, but he was presentable. Didn’t matter. Jay-1’s money made sure they were getting in.

They skipped the line of hopefuls, walked straight into a room filled with smoke, luxury, and ambition.

The air was thick with the scent of cologne, expensive liquor, and desperation. Women draped themselves over men like living accessories, bottles lined the VIP tables like trophies, and everybody inside had something to prove.

Jay-1 dapped up a dark-skinned dude rocking a Rolex and an even badder chick in his lap.

“Yatta,” Jay-1 said, motioning toward him. “This my guy Vic. He been holding shit down while you was gone.”

Vic looked Kenyatta up and down, then nodded. “Heard about you.”

Kenyatta gave a cool grin. “All good things, I hope.”

Vic chuckled. “Something like that.”

It was all unspoken, but Kenyatta understood what was happening. He was being evaluated. These weren’t just random street dudes. These were men who had money to lose. And when money was involved, respect was currency.

Jay-1 leaned in. “You feeling it yet?”

Kenyatta exhaled. The luxury. The access. The temptation. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t call to him. But then he remembered Kaliyah’s face. That alone reminded him why he wasn’t supposed to be here.

He grabbed a glass from the table, but instead of taking a sip, he set it right back down.

Jay-1 noticed. “You good?”

Kenyatta nodded, voice firm. “Yeah.”

Jay-1 studied him, then smiled with certainty. “A’ight, then.”

The night moved on. Drinks flowed, money moved, connections were made. Kenyatta watched it all. Tempted. But not moved. For the first time in his life, he realized he was done chasing ghosts.

The night had been smooth. Too smooth.

Just when Kenyatta thought he had made it through the night clean, Jay-1 leaned in. “Aye, we gotta roll.”

Kenyatta frowned. “What? We just got here.”

Jay-1 checked his phone, then clapped hands with Vic. “I got something I need to take care of.”

Something in Jay-1’s tone made Kenyatta’s instincts flare.

Jay-1 was too calm, and at the same time too rushed. That meant whatever was happening was serious.

Kenyatta exhaled. “This ain’t some dumb shit, is it?”

Jay-1 smirked, tossing a few bills on the table. “Nah, just business.”

That word could mean anything, and Kenyatta didn’t like any of the possibilities.

**********

The BMW cut through the city, moving too fast for a regular night out.

Kenyatta clenched his jaw. “Alright, Jay-1. What the fuck is this?”

Jay-1’s knuckles flexed on the wheel. “A quick stop. In and out.”

Kenyatta scoffed. “Ain’t no such thing as ‘quick’ when you moving like this.”

Jay-1 chuckled. “Bruh, why you acting like I’m about to throw you into some wild shit?”

Kenyatta side-eyed him. “Because you are.”

Jay-1 sighed, finally glancing over. “Look, I just gotta pick up something from my guy. That’s it. No extra shit, no drama. Just sit tight, keep the engine running.”

Kenyatta felt it before he knew it.

That shift in the air. The sudden drop in his stomach. The way Jay-1’s whole demeanor changed was too casual, too calm. Like he was trying too hard to make shit feel normal. This felt too familiar. This felt like the same bullshit that got him locked up before.

“I ain’t with it,” Kenyatta said firmly, his voice low but leaving no room for argument. “Take me back to my mama’s.”

Jay-1 scoffed, his grip on the wheel tightening. “Man, stop tripping. You ain’t gotta do nothing. Just be a passenger.”

Kenyatta knew better. The passenger always caught time too.

The BMW glided through the dark streets, leaving the glow of the Red District behind. The neon lights faded into the cold, desolate stretch of the city’s industrial zone—where only bad deals and worse decisions happened.

Kenyatta’s chest tightened.

“Nah, hell nah.” His head shook before the car even rolled to a stop. “This ain’t no pick-up.”

Jay-1 shot him a look, a smirk pulling at his lips, but his eyes were serious.

“Bruh, calm down.” That was all he said. There was nothing to explain.

They pulled up behind a black Escalade, its tinted windows as dark as the alley behind it. The headlights from the Beamer illuminated the scene in jagged flashes, revealing the side of an old warehouse with boarded-up windows and rusted metal doors.

A place where shit went wrong, and nobody ever saw a damn thing.

Then, movement.

The Escalade’s doors swung open, and two masked men stepped out.

One gripped a duffle bag, its weight dragging his arm slightly. The other one’s hand stayed inside his jacket.

Gun .

Kenyatta’s pulse hammered against his ribs. This wasn’t right. The air was too still. The street was too quiet. This wasn’t just business: this was a fucking trap.

Kenyatta’s gut screamed at him to move, to get the fuck out of there. “Jay-1, what the fuck—”

Then all hell broke loose.

Gunfire erupted, ripping through the air. Glass shattered. The BMW’s windshield exploded, spiderweb cracks spreading fast.

Jay-1 let out a string of curses, ducking low as he grabbed the gear shift.

“FUCK!”

Kenyatta dove to the side, his body moving on instinct, reaching for something, anything; but he was unarmed.

“Jay-1, GO!”

Jay-1 slammed the gas, the tires screeching as the BMW lurched forward. Bullets whizzed past, slicing through the night like deadly whispers.

The masked men dove for cover, firing back as Jay-1 swerved onto the main road, nearly clipping a dumpster on the way out. The car fish-tailed, struggling for control before catching traction.

Kenyatta’s pulse pounded in his skull.

This wasn’t a simple drop gone wrong. This was a set-up.

He twisted in his seat, breath sharp, heart thundering, watching the warehouse disappear behind them.

They weren’t chasing. Which meant, they never planned on letting Jay-1 leave alive.

His jaw clenched. “WHO THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”

Jay-1’s knuckles were white, his jaw tight as hell. His eyes flicked to the rearview, then back to the road, his chest rising and falling fast.

“Somebody who thought they could play me.”

Kenyatta exhaled sharply, his mind racing, piecing shit together.

This wasn’t random. This wasn’t just bad luck. Jay-1 had stepped on the wrong toes.

And now Kenyatta was right in the middle of it.

Again.

**********

Jay-1 took the back roads, weaving through Trinity Bay’s streets like a ghost in the night. The neon glow of liquor stores and laundromats blurred past as he cut through side streets, finally pulling into a quiet lot on the West Side. He killed the engine, but the tension between them hummed louder than the silence.

Kenyatta’s pulse was still hammering, his body wired from adrenaline. He turned, eyes burning into Jay-1’s profile. “Man, what the fuck was that?”

Jay-1 exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face before meeting his gaze. “A miscalculation.”

Kenyatta let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “A miscalculation? That’s what we call almost getting jammed up? Almost violating my parole? You had me sitting in a hot car, in a hot situation…for what?”

Jay-1 looked away, rubbing his temples like he had an explanation brewing, but Kenyatta wasn’t trying to hear it.

“It wasn’t supposed to go like that,” Jay-1 muttered.

Kenyatta scoffed, his temper barely in check. “That’s what everybody say after shit go wrong.”

Jay-1 finally turned, really looking at him now. “You ain’t the same Kenyatta no more, huh?”

Something in Kenyatta’s chest tightened. He wasn’t. Not anymore. And for the first time, he could say that shit with certainty.

He leaned back against the seat, staring at the cracked windshield, jaw clenching. “Nah. I ain’t.”

Silence fell. Just the sound of the tires gripping the wet pavement, the hum of the engine struggling to settle after being pushed to its limits.

Then Kenyatta spoke, his voice low, controlled, but firm. “This some K9 shit?”

Jay-1 didn’t answer right away. He just clicked his tongue, tapping his fingers against the wheel in thought.

“I doubt it. That ain’t really K9’s style.” He flicked a glance toward Kenyatta. “You know how he move. If he wanted you out the way, you wouldn’t see it coming. Wouldn’t be no sloppy-ass ambush. It’d be clean.”

Kenyatta knew that fact all too well. It was rumored that K9 was behind his set-up that had him gone for seven years.

Kenyatta didn’t respond, but he wasn’t about to put shit past K9. But if this wasn’t K9’s doing, he was going to hear about it. Best believe K9 heard about everything.

Kenyatta inhaled deep, exhaling slow. He wasn’t about to sit there breaking down theories, because at the end of the day, the one thing he knew for certain was that he had just dodged some real shit tonight.

And if K9’s name was even floating near this situation, he needed to make sure his name wasn’t attached to it.

And he meant it. The streets used to be in his veins, his lifeline. But now they felt like a noose tightening around his neck.

Jay-1 was his boy, but this shit was beyond reckless. This was the kind of shit that got people buried or behind bars. And he had a daughter to think about. A future. A way out that he was barely holding onto as it was.

Kenyatta exhaled, shaking his head. “Take me home.”

Jay-1 hesitated, gripping the wheel like he wanted to convince him otherwise. Like he was waiting on Kenyatta to crack, to remember who he used to be. But Kenyatta wasn’t that man anymore.

One look at his face, and Jay-1 knew better.

Without another word, he put the car in drive and pulled out of the lot, merging onto the main road. Kenyatta stared out the window as the city blurred past him, except this time, it didn’t look tempting.

It looked like a whole ass trap.

But just as the tension in his chest started to settle, Jay-1 cursed under his breath. Red and blue lights cut through the night in the rearview mirror.

“Shit. They looking for us.”

Kenyatta’s heart slammed against his ribs as Jay-1 flicked off the headlights and made a sharp right onto a side street, cutting through an alley. The scanner from Jay-1’s burner phone crackled to life, static breaking over the voices.

“ All units be advised, suspect vehicle—black BMW—last seen heading westbound off Maynard. Proceed with caution .”

Jay-1’s car.

Kenyatta’s stomach dropped. He knew how this played out. It was never just a traffic stop. Not for them. Not for two Black men in the middle of the night in a car that already had eyes on it.

“You gotta get me outta this car, bruh,” Kenyatta said lowly, his voice steady but urgent.

Jay-1 gritted his teeth, swerving onto another street. “Hold tight.”

Sirens wailed in the distance, but Jay-1 knew these streets like the back of his hand. He cut through an industrial block, looping around before hitting the main road again. The sirens faded behind them, but neither of them relaxed.

Kenyatta ran a hand down his face, heart still pounding. He had to get out.

Now.

Up ahead, a gas station came into view, neon lights flickering under the night sky. His only out. “Drop me here.”

Jay-1 hesitated. “You sure?”

“Now, nigga.”

Jay-1 jerked the wheel, pulling into the lot. Kenyatta wasted no time, throwing open the door and stepping out. The moment the night air hit him, he knew this was it. A breaking point.

Jay-1 didn’t say anything. Didn’t apologize. He just gave him a long look before peeling out of the lot, disappearing into the night.

Kenyatta exhaled, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. He was done with this shit. For real this time. But just as he turned to head inside, the familiar flash of red and blue caught his eye.

The police .

They were rolling slow, creeping up toward the gas station. Looking. Searching for the car he had just stepped out of.

Fuck! For the second time tonight, his past had caught up to him. His pulse jumped, and instinct took over. He needed a diversion. Fast.

And if he didn’t act quick, he might not make it out of this one.