Page 34

The ride back to Bayfront Heights was thick with silence, the kind that held too many unspoken thoughts, too much tension, too many questions neither of them were willing to voice outright. The Porsche’s smooth engine hummed low, the city lights casting flickering patterns across the sleek interior as they cut through Trinity Bay’s winding roads.

Krys sat poised but pensive in the driver’s seat, one hand gripping the wheel, the other casually resting in her lap, her thumb lightly tapping against her thigh.

Beside her in the passenger seat, Kenyatta was leaned back, one hand propped against his temple, his jaw tight, his fingers idly grazing his beard.

In the backseat, Musa was watching. He had been relaxed at first, stretched out across the seats, his massive frame taking up the space comfortably. Now, his head was lifted, his sharp eyes flicking between them, sensing the shift in the air.

Krys was still processing the day’s events. Rico pulling up had been one thing, but the way Kenyatta questioned her afterward had been something else.

“You ever lie to me?”

There was weight behind that question, something deeper than surface level curiosity. She didn’t fault him for asking; not after the way Rico laid it out there. But she was a firm believer in not exposing her hand before she knew who was playing the game.

Krys stole a quick glance at him now, his broad frame still tense, his gaze locked out the window like he was deep in thought.

He wasn’t prying, but she could tell he wanted to. The intimacy they shared earlier hadn’t erased that tension. If anything, it had amplified it.

Krys finally exhaled, rolling her neck before glancing over at Kenyatta again.

“You okay?” she asked, keeping her tone light.

Kenyatta’s fingers flexed slightly against his knee before he responded. “Yeah.”

Short. Clipped.

She smirked slightly. “ Yeah ?”

He glanced at her then, his gaze just a little darker than before, but he didn’t say anything.

She let the silence linger for a moment before shifting gears. “You should stay the night.”

It wasn’t an offer. It wasn’t casual. It was a statement, one that hung in the air thick and intentional.

To her surprise, Kenyatta didn’t push back. He didn’t throw out some half-assed excuse or make it a thing. He just studied her for a second before giving a single nod.

“A’ight.”

Krys didn’t fully understand why he quickly agreed; didn’t know if it was about trust or convenience or if he just wasn’t ready to be alone with his thoughts tonight.

As they drove through the gates of Bayfront Heights, past manicured landscapes and towering beachfront homes, she felt it settling in. Tonight, things were different.

And neither of them would be able to ignore it.

**********

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

Kenyatta let the door shut behind him, exhaling slow as the faint scent of Krys’ perfume and Musa’s presence lingered in the air. He could hear her footsteps disappearing somewhere down the hall, the heavy sound of Musa’s paws trailing behind her.

Just like that, he was alone, and he needed a drink. He was relaxed enough despite all the alcohol he had consumed earlier.

He moved through the dimly lit space, the sleek, modern design of her kitchen making him feel like he had stepped into a world that wasn’t his, but something he could definitely adjust to.

Marble counters, state-of-the-art appliances, neatly stacked bottles of expensive wine sitting on display but no damn whiskey, cognac, rum, or tequila.

He opened one cabinet. Then another. Nothing.

Krys wasn’t a brown liquor type, he should’ve known that.

With a low grunt, he let the last cabinet door shut and leaned against the counter, rubbing his hands down his face.

His mind was still stuck on earlier. Rico, the streets, and most of all Krys. She was in his head now. Not just in the way a bad chick usually was; something to lust after, something to conquer.

Nah. She was in his head. Every move she made, every word she said, every time she looked at him like she saw something more than what the streets had made him. It was pissing him off.

Not at her, at himself. Because how the hell was he supposed to balance being this nigga and wanting her at the same time?

Krys wasn’t the type to be on a nigga’s arm for looks. She wasn’t going to be the chick in the passenger seat while he risked his life trying to get out of a debt he never should’ve owed. She was the one behind the wheel.

That was why he wanted her even more. The shit was sexy.

Kenyatta exhaled, running his tongue over his teeth. What was it about her that made them fit so naturally? He had never felt this with anyone else; not even Brooke back in the day. Of course, not Brooke. That was the wrong comparison, but this was so far from what he had had with Brooke. This was easy.

Women like Krys didn’t just fall for a nigga like him, unless they were being reckless. Was Rico right, then? Was Krys ever with K9?

He wasn’t the type to ask a woman about her past, but this wasn’t just any nigga. This was K9; the same mothafucka that fed him to the feds. So, if Rico was saying it, that meant the streets were whispering it too.

Krys’ bare feet made no sound against the floor as she stepped in, fresh from wherever the hell she had disappeared to.

Musa had peeled off somewhere, finally giving her space.

When she saw Kenyatta leaning against her counter, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes darker than usual, she picked up on it immediately.

“You look like you got something to say,” she noted, voice calm but knowing.

Kenyatta studied her for a moment. He asked the one thing that had been sitting in his chest all night. “You ever fuck with niggas like me? I remember ol’ boy—that Zahir nigga—kept saying something to that effect. It ain’t like you or whatever, but…”

Krys’ brows lifted slightly.

“Like you how?” she countered.

“You know what I mean,” he muttered, his fingers tapping lightly against the counter. “Street niggas.”

Krys exhaled, tilting her head slightly.

“Is that a real question?”

Kenyatta didn’t blink. “Yeah.”

Krys leaned back against the island, crossing her arms.

“I like men who move with power,” she admitted smoothly. “Who handle their shit. Who ain’t soft.”

Kenyatta smirked slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That sound like a yes.”

Krys watched him, letting a short silence stretch before she spoke.

“I like a man that knows who he is,” she said carefully. “But I don’t chase niggas who don’t know where they fit in, whether they’re in the streets or not, if that’s what you asking.”

Kenyatta’s jaw flexed. He could sense she wasn’t lying, but she wasn’t telling him everything either. It was bothering him more than it should have.

“Is that why you ain’t asking me no real questions?” he asked, his voice dropping slightly. “You don’t wanna know what I gotta do to get out?”

Krys didn’t blink.

“I already know what you gotta do.”

That made him pause.

She stepped closer, slow, her presence commanding the space effortlessly.

“I know you drowning,” she said smoothly. “And I know what kind of nigga you are.”

Kenyatta’s grip on the counter tightened.

Krys tilted her head, her voice soft but firm. “What I don’t know,” she murmured, “is if you wanna be that nigga forever or…if you want to level up.”

His chest rose slightly. That was the real question. He could still be a street nigga, or he could be something else. Something more. Something that had nothing to do with the life that kept dragging him back under.

Krys wasn’t going to ask him to choose; she was just going to see if he figured it out himself.

Kenyatta let out a slow, short breath and smirked. “You really think you got me figured out, huh?”

Krys smirked back, but there was something unreadable in her eyes. “Not yet,” she murmured, turning toward the fridge. “But I’m close.”

Kenyatta exhaled, running a hand over his face. He had little time to handle Rico. And little time to figure out if he was really about to let her in…

Or if he needed to walk away now. Kenyatta leaned against the counter, arms folded, eyes steady on Krys as she moved through the kitchen. The weight of Rico’s words still lingered in the back of his mind.

Kenyatta exhaled, long and slow.

He gave in. “A’ight, check it…Rico ain’t just on my ass ‘bout money.”

Krys raised a brow but didn’t interrupt.

“He sent one of his niggas to my mama’s house.” His voice was tight, low. “Let me know he ain’t playing.”

Krys’ expression hardened. “And?”

“And I ain’t been staying there for the past few weeks.” He looked away, shaking his head slightly. “I been at Tez’s. That’s why I was there when you picked me up.”

Krys was quiet for a moment. After musing, she stated, “Makes sense. You didn’t want your mom being dragged into your shit or being put in any danger.”

Kenyatta nodded once.

“And Kaliyah?”

His jaw clenched.

“She straight for now. But Brooke?” He let out a bitter laugh. “She fuckin’ with Trell.”

Krys’ brows pulled together slightly. “Trell?”

“Yeah.” Kenyatta nodded, his tone sharp. “The same nigga that used to run under me. The same nigga that’s with Rico now.”

“Was he there earlier at The Water?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t see him. But he done became cool with Rico and tryna make a lil name for himself out there.”

Krys’ expression darkened. “That’s a problem.”

Kenyatta nodded. “Yeah. And not just ‘cause of her; it’s a problem ‘cause of Kaliyah.”

Krys hesitated. She could help and take this shit off his plate. If she did, there was no going back. She’d be all in.

Kenyatta’s back was already against the wall. He didn’t want her to rescue him. He just didn’t want her taking the effect this shit had on him personally.

Silence hung heavy between them.

Kenyatta exhaled, shaking his head. “I just need to make sure Kaliyah’s good.”

Krys studied him, her jaw tightening slightly before she nodded. “Then that’s what we do.”

No hesitation. No turning back. She was in this now whether she was ready or not.

Silence wrapped around them, thick and unmoving.

Kenyatta heard her, but processing it was a different story.

“Then that’s what we do?”

She had said it so damn easy. She had already made up her mind as if she wasn’t standing on the edge of something too deep for either of them to climb out of once they jumped.

He studied her, really studied her, his eyes tracing the subtle tension in her jaw, the way her arms crossed like she was holding something back.

She was basically declaring that she wasn’t going to let him deal with this on his own, and that meant a lot because nobody had ever done that for him before. Not like this. Not without expecting something in return.

Kenyatta exhaled, running a hand down his face. His life had been his own problem for so long. Every choice. Every consequence. Every fucked-up situation. He had always handled his own shit.

“Then that’s what we do.”

If she really meant that shit; if she was really stepping into this with him, then this wasn’t just some casual whatever-the-fuck between them anymore.

This was bigger.

If he let Krys do this, then he would never be able to walk away from her.

Not in the way that mattered. Not in the way that would keep her safe.

His chest rose and fell, the weight of it all sitting heavy on his ribs. Was he really about to let her do this? Was he really about to let someone else carry his burdens? Was he really about to let her be the one?

He swallowed hard, jaw tightening. Even if he wanted to object, he couldn’t. The thing was he had already fallen, and from the look in Krys’ eyes, so had she.

Leaving the implications of her words in the air, he exhaled breaking the silence. “Okay…but do you got any hard liquor in here?”

Krys glanced over her shoulder, one brow lifted. “You tryna drink?”

Kenyatta gave a slow nod. “Yeah. Something strong.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Krys’ lips. “Alright, Yatta. Come on.”

She walked off without another word, moving with that effortless confidence that always had him low-key mesmerized.

Kenyatta followed, expecting her to lead him to the living room or one of the fancy ass cabinets in the kitchen. Instead, she took a turn he’d never noticed before.

Kenyatta’s brows furrowed as she led him down a sleek hallway, then downstairs.

Hold up.

He had been in Krys’ house enough times to think he had a general feel for the space. But this was new.

The air changed the moment they stepped into the lower level. It was cooler, darker, but not in a creepy way. It was deliberate. Controlled. Designed to be separate from the rest of the house.

Kenyatta’s eyes flicked around, taking in the sheer size of the space. The entire basement was set up like an entertainment paradise. A massive tan sectional sat across from a wall of big screens, some showing sports highlights, others muted on news channels. A pool table gleamed under soft lighting, and in another corner, there was a fully decked-out gaming setup.

Everything about it was sleek, exclusive, high-end. Then his eyes caught something else. Tucked in the cut, almost like it didn’t want to be found, were two large, black double doors.

Krys stopped in front of them, pulled the sconce like a lever and retrieved a key from a hidden cutout.

Kenyatta arched a brow. “Damn. You got a whole secret vault down here?”

Krys just smiled knowingly as she unlocked the doors and pushed them open.

The room was luxurious. Black walls, deep crimson accents, gold trim. A bar stretched across the length of the back wall, lined with top-shelf liquor, crystal glassware, and hand-carved decanters. A sleek poker table sat in the center, the felt a rich blood red, the chairs around it low, comfortable, inviting.

The lighting was dim, intimate, not like some underground dive bar, but like a place where powerful people sat and discussed shit that never made the papers.

Kenyatta took a slow step inside, his head tilting slightly as he took it all in. He was stunned. This was Krys’ own private speakeasy.

“You been holding out on me, huh?”

Krys smirked, walking behind the bar like she’d done it a million times. “Not really. Just never had a reason to bring you down here.”

Kenyatta ran his fingers over the edge of the poker table, then looked back at her. “What’s this for?”

Krys poured herself a drink first, then lifted the bottle toward him. “What you think?”

He walked over, taking the glass from her, his fingers brushing against hers.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied her. “You don’t seem like the type to have game nights.”

Krys chuckled. “Depends on the game.”

She took a sip, watching him over the rim of her glass.

Kenyatta finally sat down on one of the plush bar stools, setting his drink on the counter.

“This your little hideaway, huh?”

Krys shrugged. “Something like that.”

Kenyatta leaned forward slightly, eyes dark, voice lower.

“Who else you bring down here?”

Krys paused for just half a second. Not enough for most people to notice. But Kenyatta wasn’t most people.

Her smirk returned, slow, teasing. “Why? You jealous?”

Kenyatta scoffed, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I’m just tryna figure out who else gets VIP access.”

Krys held his stare, then tilted her head slightly. “You asking if I brought K9 down here?”

His grip tightened on his glass. He hadn’t said that, but she knew exactly what was on his mind.

Instead of answering, she leaned forward slightly, voice smooth. “I don’t entertain just anybody, Yatta.”

Silence stretched between them; something unspoken settled in the air.

Kenyatta studied her for a moment longer, then lifted his glass and took a slow sip. A small smirk played on his lips.

“A’ight.”

Just one word. But it meant something, and Krys knew it.

The faintest shuffle of movement in the doorway made Kenyatta glance over.

Musa sat there, posture relaxed but alert, his massive head tilted slightly.

Kenyatta let out a small laugh. “Even down here, huh?”

Krys chuckled, looking at Musa. “Look, my baby don’t play ‘bout me.”

Musa exhaled loudly, then as if deciding Kenyatta was allowed his moment he slowly stretched out and moved back toward the open lounge, giving them their space.

Kenyatta shook his head. “Your boy thorough though. I like that.”

Krys grinned proudly. “Always.”

Another sip. Another silent understanding.

The tension was still there, but it was shifting.

Kenyatta wasn’t dumb. He still had questions, but he was just going to drink for now.