Page 46

HAVOV

I hoped they were dead.

As fucked up as it sounded, as treacherous as it felt—I hoped Carmelo’s crew had smoked both them niggas and left the courtyard painted in King blood.

I’d posted up behind the arbor on the far lawn like a good little soldier.

That’s what I told them I’d be. Securing the east side, making sure the perimeters stayed tight.

But I wasn’t securing shit. I was listening.

Watching. Waiting for the chaos to do what I’d quietly prayed it would, dismantle the myth of the perfect King brothers.

When the first gunshots rang out, my pulse didn’t jump. My breathing didn’t change. I just closed my eyes for half a second and let the sound wash over me like church bells.

Please, I’d thought. Let them be dead.

Let all that shine get smeared in blood.

But when I crept up along the edge of the courtyard and peeked through the iron fencing—my stomach dropped.

There was Riot, tall and arrogant, jaw set like a fuckin’ movie star, suit half open like he just saved the goddamn world.

And Creed right next to him, calm and surgical, coordinating clean-up like he was back in the damn Marines.

No limps. No blood. No fear in their eyes.

Just war-readiness and that goddamn brotherly bond that always shut me out.

My jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

They were alive.

Alive, and probably already planning their next move. Probably already chalking this up as a minor setback, another story for the legend. But they were wrong if they thought this was over. Wrong if they thought I’d roll over and let another missed opportunity pass me by.

Unfortunately, I now had to answer to Carmelo. He was going to be pissed about that my brothers were still alive.

I emerged from the shadows, slow and deliberate, gun still in hand. The courtyard was scattered with bodies and broken glass. Blood streaked the stone near the fountain. Guests were crying or filming or both. Smoke still lingered in the air.

And then Riot saw me.

His whole posture shifted.

His eyes narrowed like he’d just remembered I existed.

“Where the fuck were you?” His voice cracked like a whip.

Creed turned sharply. “You were supposed to be head of security.”

“I was securing the east lawn,” I said coolly, slipping the gun into my holster. “There were vulnerabilities on that side. Somebody had to watch it.”

“The east lawn?” Riot growled, marching toward me. “Nigga, we gave you the whole perimeter. Your ass should’ve been in the control keeping your eye on the fuckin’ cameras so that you could see anything.”

“Y’all didn’t say shit about that. You told me to secure it the best way I saw fit,” I replied, voice flat but firm.

“Are you retarded nigga? Are you a fuckin’ idiot? You are the most useless piece of shit Pops ever nutted. This is why he never took your dumbass seriously. Why we never took you seriously. You can’t do shit. Look at my shit!” He said extending his arms to the wreckage on the property.

My blood was boiling hearing the way that he was speaking about me. I was not an idiot nor was I retarded.

“I’m fuckin’ ashamed that your last name is King. You need to change that shit to whatever your hoe-ass mama name is!” Riot barked at me.

And then it happened. His hand came across my face in one loud, open-palmed slap that echoed louder than the gunshots had.

Smack.

My head turned with the impact and stumbled back.

I tripped over a turned bench and fell to my ass.

When I looked up, Riot was hovering over me.

I could see the hatred in his eyes and he reached his fist back ready to throw another blow.

I slid my hand to the gun in my waist, but then Creed’s savior ass came and saved the day.

He was between us in an instant. “Yo, chill?—”

“No,” Riot snapped, pointing at me like I was a roach in his kitchen. “He left us wide the fuck open. That was a hit. We could’ve died.”

I wanted to kill him.

Right there. Right then. Pull my piece and put one in his smug fucking face. Let him know I wasn’t to be played with. That I wasn’t some background character in his success story.

But I didn’t.

Because as much as I hated them in that moment—hated the way they looked at me like I was a fuck-up, hated the sting in my cheek and the shame blooming in my chest like mold—I still had a card left to play.

They weren’t dead. But their reputations? Their brand?

Shot to hell.

The press got everything. The screams. The bodies. The senator passed out like some bitch at a Michael Jackson concert. The footage would circulate within minutes. King’s Vine wouldn’t be remembered for the grapes, but for the gunfire. For the chaos. For the blood.

And that gave me joy.

I smiled, slow and bitter, like I was tasting poison and finding it sweet.

“You know what?” I said, voice low but even. “Next time, handle your own perimeter. I quit this fuckin’ family.”

Let them clean the blood off the wine barrels. Let them explain this to the press. Let them rebuild, without me.

I got up and I turned before they could say anything else. Before the rage bubbling in my gut made me do something permanent.

“Nigga you was already fired. Don’t ever show your face around King’s headquarters, or nothing. And don’t expect a dime from the company, you bitch ass nigga!” Riot shot back.

My jaw still throbbed. My hands shook with the urge to retaliate. But I walked off.

Because this wasn’t the end.

This was the beginning of the fall.

And I’d be the one to finish it.

Later that day, I pulled up to the back of a bar Brooklyn, already knowing what kind of bullshit was waiting for me. The text just said “Now.” He wanted to remind me who the fuck was in charge. Wanted to drag me in like some dog who’d pissed on the rug.

I was so sick of niggas thinking that they run me. I couldn’t wait until I showed them who the fuck I really was.

Still, I went. Because I had to.

But the second I stepped into that dark, musty backroom, I knew this wasn’t a meeting. This was a warning.

Crack!

His fist connected with my jaw before I even shut the door behind me. My head snapped to the side, vision flaring white for a split second. Blood pooled in my mouth, metallic and hot.

I didn’t think—I reached.

Pulled my piece halfway before the clicks started.

Chkk. Chkk. Chkk.

Three. Four. Five of his boys had their Glocks pointed at my skull like they were ready to decorate the walls with my brains. I could’ve taken one, maybe two if I was lucky, but not all of them. Not without dying right there.

So I let it go. Literally. I raised my hands slow and slipped the gun back into its holster.

Carmelo sneered. “That’s smart, bitch.”

I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. But inside, I was screaming. That punch wasn’t just anger—it was ownership. He wanted to remind me that I was his. His little errand boy. His inside man.

But I wasn’t anyone’s fucking property. And to get his twice in the same day was boiling my blood. And I was shuddering inside about having to go back to my woman and tell her that I had failed.

He sat down, legs spread wide like a throne belonged under him. “What the fuck was my sister doin’ there?”

My face twisted up. “What?”

“One of my homeboys saw her. Said she was inside the event, walkin’ around like it was nothing. Dark skinned, pretty girl. Her name is Allure.”

Behind him, one of his boys nodded like he was confirming a weather report.

“Yeah, I saw her when she was running away. I’d recognize her fine ass anywhere.”

“Nigga…” Carmelo barked as he turned to him.

My confusion must’ve read on my face because Carmelo squinted. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not,” I said, and for once I was telling the truth. “I don’t know who the fuck that is.”

He leaned forward, eyes hard. “Well somebody knew her. She was cozy with them niggas. And that matters to me.”

Inside, I was spiraling.

Who the fuck was Allure? Why the fuck was she there?

I didn’t know her. I’d never met her. But she was about to be a problem.

“Is one of your brothers fuckin’ my sister.”

“I don’t know shit about who they are fuckin’. I know Creed is with Sloane and today Riot did have a date… Oh shit that. Her. He ain’t introduce me to her but yeah, I know who you’re talking about now.”

“Yeah, she gon help me kill your brother if you don’t get your shit together. I lost a lotta good men today.”

I shrugged. “They weren’t that good. Couldn’t even shoot. Not one King got hit.”

I should’ve kept my mouth shut. The second the words left, I knew I fucked up.

His face darkened. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth. Don’t disrespect my people. Especially not my man Keontay. That’s family. He died today. We been homies since we were 10.”

Something clicked.

“Keontay?” I asked. “Was that the one with a scar under his eye and a neck tat? Grim Reaper or some shit?”

Carmelo’s jaw tightened. “Yeah.”

I nodded, solemn. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

But inside, I wasn’t sorry.

If dude got close enough to be seen, he should’ve gotten a shot off. Period. Anything else was reckless. Soft.

Carmelo stood and walked toward me, slow and controlled like a panther. “Let me make something real fuckin’ clear.”

I held my breath.

“You get one more shot. One. You fuck this up again, and I’m not just killing you. I’ll kill your bitch. I’ll kill your son. And I’ll make sure they feel it slow.”

My heart stopped for half a beat.

He meant it. I saw it in his eyes. This wasn’t tough talk. This was a promise. A death sentence wrapped in opportunity.

I nodded once, jaw tight, fury bubbling like acid in my chest.

“Understood,” I said.

But inside?

Inside I was carving the date into my mental calendar. Because the second my brothers were in the ground and I’d finally shattered the image of the golden King bloodline I was coming back for Carmelo.

He’d made one fatal mistake.

He threatened my kid.

And for that, he was already dead.