Page 25

HAVOC

Sweat dripped from my brow, splattering against the hardwood as I powered through another set of push-ups in the middle of my living room. My chest burned, arms tight, shoulders locked, but I kept going. Pain meant nothing to me anymore. It was just another language I’d learned to speak fluently.

My penthouse wasn’t bad. Open floor plan. High ceilings. That cold, modern shit with matte black fixtures and floor-to-ceiling windows. It was nice enough. But it wasn’t King nice .

Not Creed’s Harlem fortress. Not Riot’s compound tucked away like some damn villain lair.

Mine? Mine was what you got when you were the leftover King.

The one who didn’t get handed power on a platter.

The one who was always told to wait your turn…

even when your blood ran just as dark, just as deadly.

But that was cool.

I didn’t want what they had.

I wanted more.

While those two had mansions, vacation homes, fleets of cars, and money tied up in crypto, offshore accounts, and armored trucks—I had this. A single penthouse out the way in Brooklyn that I bought cash. A few stacks buried. Enough to walk away if I needed to. Not enough to take the city by storm.

Not yet.

But that was gonna change. Soon.

Once I knocked them off the throne, took what should’ve been mine from the beginning—I’d have estates in the Hamptons. A fleet of exotics. A fuckin’ tiger if I wanted one.

I dropped to my forearms and switched into planks, holding my body steady as my mind ran laps.

They didn’t see me coming. They never did.

Creed was too busy playing dark knight, and Riot? According to Rollo, Riot was out here falling for the girl he was supposed to just be protecting. Stupid move. Emotional men make easy targets.

I tightened my core, gritting my teeth.

Let them stay comfortable.

I was coming for all of it.

The sound of keys jingling and the soft thud of the front door closing broke through the silence of my reps. I stayed in push-up position as long as I could, but my son’s little laughter followed by Mimi’s sharp voice snapped the rhythm right out of me.

“I hope you're gettin' stronger down there, because you’re sure as hell not getting any smarter,” she sassed.

Mimi was being hard on me because she was ready for me knock my brothers off their throne. Besides she had some skin in the game. This wasn’t just about me. She wanted revenge on them too.

I grunted and rose to my feet, sweat still rolling down my spine. My son reached out to and I grabbed him from her without hesitation, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. His weight grounded me, gave me something real to hold on to in this whole fucked-up game.

Mimi stood at the door with her arms folded, a diaper bag slung over one shoulder and a scowl on her face. She was still fine, had that fire in her eyes that had pulled me in from day one, but damn if she didn’t know how to gut a man with just her words.

“Well, hello to you too.” I greeted. I loved Mimi. She was rock my away from the Kings and I intended on keeping her a secret. If they knew I was with her, there would be hell to pay.

“What’s the latest?” she asked, cutting straight to it. “What’s the grand plan for taking down your brothers? Or have you given up because you haven’t mention shit to me in a while.”

I put the kid down gently and grabbed a towel, wiping my face.

“There’s an open house coming up at the vineyard,” I said. “I’m thinking I should hit it. I’ll make a big public statement. It’ll hurt the business, and kill them.”

She squinted at me. “With who? Your imaginary army?”

I stayed quiet. She was right, I couldn’t pull that shit off alone.

She threw her hands up. “Exactly. You don’t even have a team, Havoc. You talk big, but every time it’s time to actually move, you freeze up. You think Creed and Riot got where they are by freestyling shit like this?”

“I just need more time?—”

“You’ve had time,” she snapped. “And you know why they don’t bring you in on the big plays? Because you don’t know what the hell you’re doing. You act like you’re still some kid trying to prove he’s tough enough to hang with the big dogs, but you ain't.”

I clenched my jaw. She knew exactly how to hit where it hurt.

She kept going. “You got a son now. That boy right there? He needs a future. Not some half-baked revenge fantasy.”

I didn’t say anything at first. I walked over to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water, and stared out the window while I downed it.

“I’m not backing down,” I finally said. “I don’t care how long it takes. Creed and Riot act like I’m just some side piece in this family. Like I didn’t bleed the same blood the same as them. But I’m done being sidelined. I’m coming for what’s mine.”

Mimi picked up our son, kissed his cheek, then turned back to me.

“You better get it together then. Fast. Because if you keep talking instead of moving, you're not gonna be feared. You're gonna be forgotten.”

“I know baby.”

“Good. I love you and if you don’t get revenge for my sister’s death, you’ll lose the both of us.”

Her words hit me harder than any weight I could press. You’ll lose the both of us.

Mimi wasn’t one for idle threats. If she said she’d walk, she meant it. And that would ruin me. I could stomach being iced out by Creed and Riot. Could stomach being the brother always put on the bench. But losing Mimi? Losing my son?

Nah. That’d break something in me that couldn’t be fixed.

After she walked off down the hall to lay him down, I leaned on the counter, my palms flat against the cool marble, and let my thoughts drift.

I met Mimi a couple years back at a club in Brooklyn.

She wasn’t like the other women there. While everybody else was busy posing for attention, she was just..

. standing there. Calm. Cool. Not trying to be seen, but impossible to miss.

Long braids down her back, tight jeans, and this energy about her—like she was watching the room instead of trying to be part of it.

I clocked her instantly. I recognized her as Malia’s little sister.

She was the baby sis of the girl that Riot used to be in love with. I remembered the face, the eyes.

I approached her and we hit off immediately. She knew that I was different from my brothers and took to me quickly.

At first, I thought she was just using me for proximity. To get close to Riot. To get revenge for her sister’s death. I didn’t blame her. Riot killed that girl and our Pops helped cover it up.

When she realized that I hated them as much as she did, it made her fall even harder. We have a common enemy and sometimes hatred can bring people together closer than love.

Thankfully, we weren’t a phase. We were a reckoning. She saw something in me, anger, maybe. Or emptiness. Whatever it was, it matched the thing inside her, and it stuck. We stuck.

And now here we were. Plotting to burn the King legacy to the ground with a damn baby sleeping in the next room.

The sound of her feet returning pulled me out of my thoughts. She came back into the living room, arms crossed, face unreadable.

“Alright,” she said. “We’re never going to get revenge for my sister—or get power—if you can’t step up to the plate.”

“I am stepping up.”

“Talking ain’t stepping.”

I exhaled through my nose, then straightened. “I know someone who wants them dead as much as we do. Someone who can help pull off this shoot out.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Who?”

“Carmelo Jones.”

“Jones?” she repeated, tilting her head.

“Yeah. Lionel Jones’ son.”

She blinked. The connection clicked. “Lionel… that’s the man Riot killed because he thought he took your father?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Riot put a bullet in his head and dumped him in the Passaic. Word is Carmelo’s been quiet, but I know he didn’t forget. He’s been waiting for his shot. I don’t think he knows who did it. So I’m gonna inform him.”

Mimi’s lips curled into a slow smile. “Good. Get to it.”

I didn’t move.

She stepped closer, eyes hard and shimmering. “My sister died trying to love one of y’all,” she said, voice low and bitter. “And none of you ever claimed her. You buried her memory like it was an inconvenience.”

My throat tightened.

“I won’t let her be forgotten.”

I met her eyes and nodded. “Neither will I.”

“Then prove it.”

The silence between us was electric—charged with pain, with purpose, with everything we’d never said out loud.

Then I pulled out my phone.

“Let’s see if Carmelo’s ready to make some noise.”