Page 5

HAVOC

By the time I got back to my penthouse in Harlem, my jaw was throbbin’. Swollen. Every time I moved it, a sharp pain reminded me of what went down. I couldn’t believe that nigga really rocked my shit in front of everybody like that.

That shit was foul.

Straight sucker move. Ain’t no respect in swingin’ on your brother like that, especially not over some truth. But that’s the thing about Riot—he don’t got respect for nobody but Creed and maybe their mama. And nobody ever checks him, even when he’s dead wrong.

And the more I thought about it, the hotter I got. I was Silas King’s son too. Same blood. Same legacy. But they treat me like I’m some redheaded stepchild—like I just popped up and they’ve been tolerating me ever since.

Like I’m lucky to be here.

Fuck that.

One day, they gon’ see me. Really see me. And they gon’ regret every time they overlooked me. Every meeting I wasn’t invited to. Every plan I wasn’t part of. Every decision they made without even glancin’ in my direction.

And I’ll be real… I’m still tight about how they did Pops.

That nigga wasn’t a saint, but the fact that they killed him without givin’ me a chance to look him in the eye and say what needed to be said?

That shit still eats at me.

They got their closure. I never got mine.

There’s shit I’ve buried so deep inside, I barely know if it’s real anymore. Nights I woke up with his voice still in my head. Moments I can’t talk about ‘cause they turn my stomach. I needed to face him. I deserved that.

But they took that from me too.

And now, I’m just the spare. Creed runs the company like it’s his birthright. Polished. Perfect. Corporate poster boy. And Riot? He’s the wild card they let loose when shit needs to get handled in the dark. The shadow to Creed’s light. His right hand.

Me?

I’m just an employee. A shareholder, yeah. But my shares ain’t touchin’ theirs. I get the scraps. The little projects. The “we’ll keep you in the loop” conversations that never go nowhere.

And I’m sick of it.

I didn’t survive Silas to be treated like a sidekick. I was still pacing the living room, jaw aching, fists clenched at my sides, when the door opened behind me.

“In here,” I called out.

In walked Mimi—caramel skin glowing under the overhead lights, her blonde mermaid locs cascading down her back like a damn goddess. She had our son, Jasir, propped on her hip, his curls wild and half his onesie unsnapped like he’d been fighting nap time.

She paused mid-step and frowned. “What the hell happened to your face?”

I looked away and sucked my teeth. “Nothin’.”

She shifted the baby to her other hip, stepped closer, and tilted my chin. “Riot did this?”

I didn’t answer. She already knew.

She let out a bitter laugh and shook her head. “These niggas stay showin’ you who they think you are.”

Mimi and I had been together for three years. Quiet. Off the radar. Intentional. Nobody in the King family knew about her—and that’s exactly how she wanted it.

She was more than just a secret. She was history. Dangerous history.

Her being in my life at all was a risk. But I never gave a fuck.

At first, keepin’ her a secret was her idea. She said the Kings would never accept her. Said too much blood and bad business was already between them. I didn’t press. I knew enough to know she was probably right.

But the longer we stayed together, the more I agreed with her.

The Kings didn’t deserve to know her. Or my son.

They didn’t deserve to know shit about my life.

She eased down onto the couch, bouncing our boy gently on her lap, eyes never leaving me. “You keep waitin’ for them to crown you. They won’t. You know that, right?”

I stayed silent, chest rising and falling. She wasn’t wrong.

“You could be runnin’ your own empire,” she said. “But you lettin’ them treat you like some intern.”

I looked at her. “What you want me to do, Mi? Start a war?”

She smiled—but it was sharp. “Maybe.”

She leaned in, her voice lower. “You ain’t ever gon’ be a boss in that family. You ain’t one of them. Not really. But you? You got vision. You got fire. You got people in that organization who don’t fuck with how things are run. Who feel just like you. You just too loyal to see it.”

Her words hit me in the chest. And they didn’t bounce off.

They sank in .

“You think they’ll follow me?” I asked, my voice low, careful.

“I know they will,” she said. “All they need is someone to stand up first. Someone who’s not afraid to break tradition and burn the old shit down.”

I looked down at my son, now drifting off on her shoulder. His little chest rising and falling against her.

This wasn’t about just me anymore.

Mimi stood up, walked over, and touched my face again. Her hand was soft, but her eyes were steel. “You keep playin’ their game, you’ll always lose. It’s time to flip the board, baby.”

And just like that, I nodded.

No hesitation.

“All gloves are off.”