Page 38

SOMETHING AIN’T RIGHT

I’d been home with Yummi and the baby, and having a son was different, but I felt a calm I never knew I could feel when I was with him.

Life had been good in my eyes. We’d been locked in—fucking, eating, and taking care of the baby like we didn’t have to answer to the world.

… But I could see it in her eyes—Yummi wasn’t the same.

She smiled, yeah. She laughed when she was holding the baby, and played house like she was happy.

She even said she was ready to get back in the field…

but I knew better. I’d catch her in the bathroom crying, praying under her breath, or sitting on the balcony just staring like she wasn’t even in this world.

Like her body was here, but her soul was somewhere else.

Sometimes, I wondered if she was on something or if she was self-medicating behind my back. I thought about asking, but I didn’t want to push her over the edge. I just kept watching, trying to hold it all together.

When I facetimed my mom a couple of days prior, holding the baby up so she could meet her surprise grandson, she picked up the vibe right away when she looked at Yummi and how tired she looked. As soon as she walked away with the baby, my momma was asking questions.

“The baby is a cutie, and he looks just like you. But how’s Yummi holding up?” she asked, looking at me with that mother’s intuition. “I should have known she was pregnant when she fell off the face of the earth with you, young man.”

I kept it vague. “She… cool. You know. Just adjusting to being a mom. She got her moments, but I’ve been keeping lil’ man for her while she rests.”

Mama gave me a look and said, “Son, that girl probably got postpartum depression. Keep your eyes on her. Y’all have been through a lot for her not to be.”

I didn’t know what that shit meant, but I had to help her. The only thing was... right now, I needed her to switch into street mode like she wanted. I was glad she knew I needed my rider back.

It was time to go down to Southwave and see who was really down for the team, now that Hurricane and all his bad seeds were gone. The city wasn’t gonna hold itself down, and I couldn’t do it alone.

Yummi dressed down in all black, a slicked-back ponytail, and dark makeup, looking like a problem. Her energy was different tonight—quiet, sharp, like a storm brewing under the surface. We left the baby with her moms at the house. Our kid wasn’t about to see where his parents were from. Not yet.

I hit the freeway in the Ferrari, pushing 120 with one hand on the wheel, the other locked between Yummi’s fingers.

She didn’t say much, just sat there looking out the window.

Her grip was tight, like she was holding on for dear life.

When she finally turned and gave me a small smile, it felt like a win.

Once I saw she was good, I lit my blunt, inhaled deep, and drove the coast. The city lights blurred past us, the ocean waves were black and endless, and by the time we pulled into Southwave, I was high as hell but focused.

We made it to the unit I’d rented out in Southshore Terrace—my old childhood spot.

The same walls that raised me. The same backyard where I used to play by the beach and plot my first hustles.

I was a beach boy with a gun on my waist and more work on the streets than El Chapo.

Inside, the energy was tense. Niggas posted up, waiting to see what the fuck was about to go down. Yummi stepped in, eyes hard and back straight. She was on demon time tonight, and I let her cook.

She took a slow walk around the room, staring at each person like she saw through their souls.

“I’m sure y’all niggas know why you’re here,” she started, her voice cold and sharp. “But before we even move forward, let me make one thing clear... we eliminating niggas and bitches who think they can infiltrate just ‘cause they related to my dead ass opps.”

Her eyes locked on Butter—Sparkle’s half-sister. Butter stiffened, her face going pale as hell.

“I ain’t on that shit, Yummi,” Butter blurted out, voice shaking. “I’m down with y’all. I swear. Hurricane and Sparkle… they were dead wrong. When I found out Sparkle got smoked by Hurricane and then he got killed, I knew where my loyalty was. I’m down with you and Mula, for real.”

Yummi didn’t blink. “I don’t give a fuck about none of that.”

She raised her gun with no hesitation and put a bullet dead in Butter’s head. The sound cracked through the room like thunder. Butter slumped in the chair as blood pooled on the floor. Grown-ass gangstas flinched, and YNs damn near jumped out their seats.

I smirked, letting Yummi have her moment.

I looked at two niggas Tory had told me were snakes, lingering and waiting to switch sides when shit got hot. I didn’t say a word. Just lifted my piece and dropped both of them—one in the chest, the other in the dome. The room went silent.

I looked around, calm as ever.

“The rest of y’all? You Southwave officials now. Ain’t no turning back. I’m sure none of y’all want a grave after what you just saw.”

There were murmurs of agreement and heads nodding fast. They were all in.

I tucked my piece back in my waistband, and it was still warm. “Let’s hit Velvet South. Time to celebrate the new team.”

We left eight cars deep, a whole fleet rolling through the streets like royalty.

When we got to the club, shit was dark and heavy fast. The music was thumping, bottles popping, but my eyes were on Yummi.

She was drinking, D’usse straight, no chaser.

Her body was all over mine, dancing like her life depended on it—moving slow, grinding, kissing my neck like she was trying to drown out the world.

I thought she was just enjoying herself since she hadn’t been on the scene for a minute.

But then... she switched. The sexy turned wild. The wild turned broken.

She froze, her face crumpling, and I saw the crack in her armor.

“Let’s go get some air on the beach,” I muttered, pulling her up and taking her outside, past the valet and down toward the shore. The night air hit us, and Yummi exploded. She screamed into the wind, cursing the world with fists clenched around a half-empty bottle.

“Fuck the world! Fuck everything!” she yelled, tears streaking her face. She poured liquor out onto the sand, her voice shaking. “This for my brother… but Hurricane and Sparkle? They can rest in piss!”

I let her get it out while watching, letting her rage hit the waves.

She collapsed in the sand, sobbing and holding the bottle like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Before I could react, she pulled her gun from her waistband and put it to her head.

“YUMILA!” I shouted, heart stopping. I ran over, but before I could grab her, she pulled the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

She laughed—a twisted, broken sound. “I emptied the clip on that bitch, Butter.”

She tossed the gun into the ocean, sobbing so hard her body shook.

I sat down beside her, pulling her into my arms. She melted into me, crying like her soul was shattering.

“You’ve got a lot to live for. You got a baby, a family, and a talent. Don’t fuck yourself up over the past. I’ll help you. If you need a psychiatrist, whatever, I got you. You ain’t gotta do this alone.”

She just cried, and I held her, letting her fall apart in my arms.

When she finally stopped, I had to carry her back to the car. Everybody was watching as I waited for the valet driver, but I didn’t care.

When I got on the freeway, she was saying I’m sorry the whole ride back to Prince Valley. I stayed quietly focused, driving her home drunk as hell but determined to keep her safe.

When we got in the house, I told her, “Keep that shit down. Don’t wake the baby unless I’ma make you sober up for real.”

I got her in the shower, then in bed. She tried to pull me close to have sex, but I wasn’t with it. She needed rest.

After she fell asleep, I went to my study and sat there in the dark, staring at the wall.

I realized some shit had to change.

For real this time. Yummi wasn’t built for her position anymore, and that was a hard pill to swallow.