Page 36

The Obsidian wasn’t just any spot. It was the one place in Trinity Bay where money talked louder than bullets. Where real power moved in silence. Where egos were checked at the door because no one was stupid enough to cross the wrong person.

A Noon Meeting wasn’t just a business sit-down. It was either an opportunity or a warning. And Rico was about to find out which one this was.

The second Rico walked in; he felt it. That energy shift. The kind that made men second-guess their next move before they even made it. The kind that let you know this wasn’t your room.

The Obsidian daylight crowd was different from the nighttime flexers who pulled up to sip overpriced liquor and impress women. These men weren’t here to be seen; they were here to make decisions that would shape the city. And at the center of it was Malik.

K9’s second-in-command sat at the head of the private lounge, draped in clean designer streetwear. He didn’t do flashy, but he never looked broke. Didn’t need big logos or excess shine. The way he walked, the way he commanded a room; everybody already knew who he was.

His gold pinky ring spun between his fingers, his sharp, dark eyes locked onto Rico before he even made it to the table. Rico’s steps slowed just slightly as his gaze flickered over to the person sitting beside Malik: Karma.

A shadow with a pulse. No words. No wasted movements. Bald head gleaming under the dim lights, muscular yet lean, covered in ink and scars that weren’t for decoration. She sat in eerie stillness, her unreadable gaze fixed on Rico like she was already imagining where she’d place the first bullet if things went left.

Rico had never crossed paths with her before, not directly, but he’d heard stories. Hell, everybody in The Water with sense had heard something. If you wanted a nigga gone, if you needed somebody handled with zero trace, zero loose ends, zero noise, Karma was the name whispered behind closed doors.

Nobody knew exactly how she moved, only that when she came for you, there was no escape. No warnings. No second chances. No explanations. Just disappearance.

She was rarely seen, always a shadow in the background. Some even questioned if she was real, or if she was just a myth used to keep people in line. But the higher up on the hierarchy you were, the more you knew who was who and the roles they played. Rico was high enough to know better than to assume she was just a ghost story.

He wasn’t even sure if it was her, but if she was with Malik, then yeah, it was probably her. The Karma.

His jaw clenched slightly, but he kept his face smooth, his posture easy. He wasn’t about to let them see even a flicker of hesitation. Still, it didn’t sit right. Why was she here?

Rico had been in high-pressure rooms before. But this was a different kind of pressure. The kind that meant if he said one wrong word, he wouldn’t be walking out the same way he came in. So, he played it cool. Rolled his shoulders. Kept his hands visible; not fidgeting, not twitching. And let the tension sit.

“You know why you here, right?” Malik’s voice was smooth, calm. But there was something underneath it. Something that let you know this wasn’t really a conversation. This was a directive.

Rico smirked slightly, sliding into the seat across from them. “Nah, but I’m guessing you ‘bout to tell me.”

Malik nodded, still spinning his ring. “You a smart nigga. So, tell me…what we do with smart niggas who don’t know when to chill?”

Rico’s cocky smile barely faltered. “We remind ‘em.”

Malik finally stopped spinning the ring, resting his hands on the table. “Exactly.”

He leaned forward slightly. “K9 gave Kenyatta a Ghost Pass.”

The words landed heavy. Rico felt Karma’s eyes on him now, watching, waiting. But he didn’t react. Didn’t shift in his seat. Didn’t let them see that shit bothered him.

“That’s funny,” he muttered, tapping his fingers on the table. “Didn’t know we was handing those out to niggas who still owe.”

Malik chuckled, shaking his head. “You ain’t gotta like it, Rico. But that’s the play.”

“You mean that’s his play,” Rico corrected.

Malik raised a brow. “You questioning K9 now?”

Rico leaned back, exhaling through his nose. “Nah, I’m just sayin’…You don’t think it’s funny…K9 the same nigga that handed Kenyatta over to the feds. Now he giving him protection?”

“Funny don’t matter,” Malik said easily. “K9’s word is law. And their word is…fall back.”

The air between them shifted.

Rico heard the words, but he didn’t like the way they landed. Didn’t like the way Malik looked at him, like he was checking to see if he was going to be a problem. Didn’t like the way Karma barely blinked, like she was already prepared to handle him if it came to that.

He sat there for a moment, letting the words settle. Then, he nodded once.

“A’ight.”

Malik tilted his head slightly. “That’s it?”

Rico smirked, but there was no real amusement behind it. “You said what you said.”

Malik studied him for a long second before nodding. “Good. Then enjoy the rest of your day.”

Just like that. Dismissed.

Rico pushed back from the table slowly, standing up with the same casual ease he had walked in with. But inside he was heated.

K9 gave Kenyatta a Ghost Pass.

For what? For why? And more importantly, for how long?

Rico licked his teeth, weighing his next words carefully.

“A’ight, cool. But I got a question.” He folded his arms, looking between Malik and Karma. “If K9 got so much to say ‘bout how I move, why don’t he say that shit to me in person?”

The question made the tension shift, stretching tight between them.

Malik exhaled slow. “You know that ain’t how it work.”

Rico rolled his neck, stepping back slightly. “I don’t know shit. Far as I’m concerned, I been putting money in the Bay longer than half these new niggas, and I ain’t never seen the man once.”

Karma finally spoke, her voice smooth and unbothered. “And you won’t.”

Rico turned to her, scoffing. “That what you think?”

Malik chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Nah, that’s what I know. Only two types of people see K9 in person; the ones who never speak on it…and the ones who don’t live long enough to.”

Rico held his smirk, but something about that chilled him.

A slow beat of silence passed.

Then Malik let out a quiet laugh. “Look, I get it. You don’t like taking orders. But you know how this shit go. It’s law. They said fall back, so fall back.”

Rico exhaled through his nose, rolling his tongue over his teeth. He wasn’t stupid; he knew better than to press this conversation any further.

For now.

“A’ight,” he said again, tapping the table once before stepping away.

Karma glanced at Malik, exchanging something unspoken before standing. “I’ll see y’all later.”

As she moved toward the front of the lounge, Rico barely paid her any mind because that’s when someone else captured his attention.

A woman had just walked in, her presence sending a ripple through the already tense air.

She was soft, her floral two-piece swaying gently against her frame as she moved, long, silky curls cascading over her shoulders. She looked out of place in a room filled with power-hungry men and silent shot-callers.

At first, Rico dismissed her. Probably some Midtown pretty thing who had no idea where the fuck she was. But then he noticed the way people reacted to her.

The doorman straightened the moment she stepped in. The staff subtly adjusted their posture, like her presence alone meant something. Even the big names in the room flicked their eyes her way, quick, unreadable glances that weren’t just about admiration. They respected her. More importantly she wasn’t alone.

Two men moved with her, dressed in clean, understated suits, their attention locked. Not on the crowd, not on their surroundings, but on her making sure that she was good was their only job.

That wasn’t some rich girl’s entourage; that was security. The kind of security only bosses had.

Rico’s eyes narrowed.

Who the fuck is that?

Karma, still silent, walked over to her. She murmured something low, and the woman nodded slightly before continuing toward the back of The Obsidian.

Malik, catching Rico’s expression, stood, grabbing his glass. “You straight?”

Rico barely looked at him. “Yeah.”

Malik watched him for a long moment, then simpered. “Good. ‘Cause I ain’t gon’ say this shit again, you know what’s expected of you.”

His voice was steady, even, weight behind it.

Rico dragged his gaze away from the mystery woman and back to Malik.

A slow, knowing nod.

Then Malik clapped him on the shoulder. “Enjoy your day, Rico.”

With that, he strolled off, leaving Rico standing alone, jaw tight, mind racing.

He had already been thinking about K9. About what it would take to get him out of the picture, to finally move on Trinity Bay without looking over his shoulder.

But now he had a new question: Who the fuck was that woman?

And what was she the reason nobody ever saw K9? His mind spun. The wheels turning fast, slow realization settling in his gut.

Because if what he was thinking was even halfway true meant he wasn’t just asking the wrong questions; he’d been looking in the wrong direction the entire time.

Rico’s mind was still working, thoughts turning over themselves like a slow-rolling storm, but then it hit him.

That woman.

The one walking through The Obsidian like she belonged there. The one with security that moved like shadows. The one Malik and Karma, K9’s right and left hand, treated with unspoken reverence.

Krysta fucking Davis.

Rico’s snarl disappeared. His whole stance shifted.

For a split second, he wasn’t even standing in The Obsidian anymore. He was replaying every interaction, every whispered rumor, every move she made that didn’t quite make sense.

She wasn’t just some bossed-up real estate chick with Midtown ties. She wasn’t just some well-connected woman flexing power because she came from money. She was something else entirely.

His jaw tightened. His gaze locked on the spot where she had disappeared, heading toward the private rooms at the back of the lounge. Restricted access.

And Karma, K9’s fucking enforcer, had walked with her like she was reporting to her superior. If Krysta was tied this deep, moved like this, if Malik and Karma moved for her, then Trinity Bay was playing a game Rico had never even been invited to.

Everything in Rico’s gut turned. He had come here to handle one problem: his business with Kenyatta. But now he had a bigger question: Where the fuck does Kenyatta fit in all this?

Because if Krysta Davis was what he was starting to think she was, that meant K9 wasn’t just protecting Kenyatta, K9 might be…

A slow, unsettling realization curled in Rico’s stomach.

His fingers flexed at his side, his jaw twitching. He had one job: to stay in line, respect the Ghost Pass, and fall the fuck back.

But now, all he wanted was to get to the bottom of this. He had spent years moving like K9 was some untouchable, faceless entity. A ghost in the system. A legend whispered in the dark corners of the Bay. He had assumed K9 was some unseen puppet master, an old-school power figure working behind the scenes.

Because if K9 had a face, if he had weaknesses, if there was a way to remove him or her from the picture then Trinity Bay would belong to Rico.

His chest rose and fell with slow, steady breaths, forcing himself to stay cool. He wasn’t going to move off impulse and blow his hand just yet.

But he’d be damned if he didn’t start watching Krysta Davis.

And Kenyatta…that nigga had some explaining to do.

…..to be continued

“Step too loud, they hear your feet, Speak too bold, they taste your heat. Run too fast, they cut the track, Turn your back, you don’t come back."

"The Water’s deep, the current strong, K9 waits, it won’t take long. A whisper soft, a shadow near, They choose your fate, they disappear."

"Who holds the crown? Who walks unseen? Who owns the night where none dare dream? Who counts your breaths, who stills your tongue? K9 rules; the lost, the hung.”