Page 9

SACRIFICE

The beach was dead quiet. Waves crashed dark against the sand, and there were no lights for miles. We met niggas out here on the back side of Southwave near The Decks —the no-man’s zone, where the water swallowed bodies and the cops ain’t even bother pulling up.

Me, Yummi, and Mula stood on one side with some dirty-lookin’ Los Angeles niggas on the other.

They were jittery. Their eyes were darting, and the energy was off.

Mula clocked it first and adjusted the Glock in his waistband.

He had that cool, unbothered look on his face like always, but I was watching Yummi.

She had on all black with her hair pulled back and thick gold hoops swinging as she shifted her weight. She looked too good to be out here on business, but that was Yummi. She had a soft life vibe on the surface, but she’d bat a bitch or blow a nigga head off if you crossed her.

The bag was at her feet, heavy with product.

We’d done this dance a million times. Get the money first, then give them the product.

Coast taught us all how to handle drops like this, but now he was gone.

It had been six months since we had been doing this without Coast, and a lot had already changed. Nothing felt right, either.

One of the niggas stepped forward, talking fast. “We’re short this time, but we’ll make it up next?—”

Mula didn’t even let him finish. “Short?” He scoffed. “The fuck you mean short? That wasn’t the agreement.”

The energy cracked, and the tension snapped in the air like a whip. That’s when the nigga made his move; fast and sloppy. He went for the bag in front of Yummi like he wasn’t surrounded by killers.

I went for my piece, but Yummi moved first. Her gun was out, aimed, and before I could blink, the shot rang out.

The dude hit the sand, and dark blood spilled against the waves.

“Fuck!” His boys scrambled, but we had them covered. They backed down quickly with their hands up. The fear in their eyes was sharp.

Yummi stood there, breathing heavily, gun still aimed andsteady.

This wasn’t her first body. I’d seen her take a female out before.

It was the way she stood over him like she was some kinda queen of the sand and the surf with blood on her hands but no fucks left to give.

That’s when I knew she was spiraling. Coast was gone; there was no leash, no rules.

.. she was letting the power go to her head.

Mula stared at the body, then at her. He didn’t say shit. He nodded like he expected it, but I felt something different.

We murked the rest of the niggas because the deal was canceled.

Afterward, I helped clean the scene, making sure the bodies got dragged into the water.

We wiped down our prints and secured the bag we were now taking from them.

The whole time, I was watching Yummi. She wiped the blood off her hand like it was nothing.

The way she smirked when one of the other dudes started crying.

The way shelooked at me and Mula, like she didn’t even need us anymore.

That’s when it hit me. This is my chance. Yeah, she was powerful butbroken underneath, and I could mold that.

She ain’t know it yet, but she needed me.

$$$$$

That night, I took her back to our spot. We drank. We smoked. Ispiked her drink, just a little—enough to loosen her up. I saw it take effect by the way her pupils dilated.

“You do your shit out in the field, but you don’t gotta carry this, Yummi,” I whispered to her while R&B music hummed low in the background, while the city lights blinked far away.

She was lying back on the couch, eyes half-lidded, skin glowing in the low light, still fresh from the kill, and I could see it—the crack in her armor.

“You don’t need that life. You don’t need to do runs with Mula. You don’t need him. You need me. He’s talking about retiring the water anyway.”

Her head lolled to the side as her lips parted like she wanted to argue, but the words got stuck somewhere in her throat. I leaned in close enough that my breath touched her ear.

“Let me save you, Yumila. I’m the only one who can.”

And right then, I knew she was mine. I saw it in her eyes—half-glazed, half-lost, that war going on inside her. All of it ate her alive.

I leaned in closer, my voice low like a secret. “You don’t need to carry that weight... You don’t need to be out here killing niggas. That’s not you. That’s not what Coast wanted for you.”

Her eyes fluttered, mouth parting like she wanted to protest, but I watched it—the way the fight drained out of her. The alcohol, the drug I slipped into her drink, the grief, all mixed together, which left hersoft and pliable.

She exhaled a slow, shaky breath.

“I just... I don’t know what I’m doin’ no more, Hurricane. Feels like I’m drowning. Coast is gone. Mula don’t... he doesn’t get it. And I’m so fucking tired of acting strong all the time. Like I gotta hold this shit down for everybody.” Her voice cracked, and I had her.

I reached over, brushed a finger down her cheek, and caught the tear that slipped out.

“I get it, Yummi. I see you. Ain’t nobody else gon’ take care of you like me.”

She stared at me for a beat, long and searching. Then, almost like she was giving in, she nodded once, slowly.

“Okay. Okay.”

I grinned, slow and wide.

“Good girl.”

I ain’t never believed in no higher power.

God? That was a story they told us in the hood to keep us scared and quiet.

I wasn’t the type to pray, and I damn sure didn’t kneel for no man or spirit.

I believed in blood and love—my kind of love—the kind that burned slow and scarred deep. That was my gospel.

Yummi could believe in whatever she wanted. The ocean, the stars, her dead brother looking down from somewhere. But before she put her faith in any of that, she was going to believe in me.Me first. Me always. Tonight, I was going to show her the type of love I was on.

I grabbed a knife off the table—just a slim, sharp blade that I cut up coke with. I put the knife to her hand. She flinched at first, but I shook my head. My voice was smooth.

“Relax. It’s just us. Just a lil promise between you and me. You trust me, right?”

Her breath hitched, but she nodded. “Yeah... I trust you.”

I held out my palm and sliced it clean. Dark, warm blood welled up. Then, I handed her the blade.

“Your turn.”

She hesitated for half a second, but then she took it as her hands shook a little. She lightly pressed the blade to her skin, scared at first, then deeper. Blood welled up on her palm.

I took her hand in mine, pressed our palms together. The blood mixed, dripping slowly down our wrists.

“You mine now, Yumila. You understand?”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “I understand.”

“Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

Her eyes closed, her body sank into the couch, and I had her right where I wanted her.

I kissed her wrist, slow, deliberate, tasting the salt and iron on her skin.

“You belong to me now. Ain’t no Mula, no runs to The Shadows, ain’t no streets. Just me and you, so find your replacement.”

She didn’t say anything. She just leaned back, her breathing slowed like she was finally letting herself feel safe... like I was the only thing holding her together.

She wasmine to build back up , my way.

Our blood dripped slowly, mixing like the waves crashing outside. I held her hand and gripped it tight like I was anchoring her to me, like the whole world could spin off its axis, but I wasn’t letting her go.

I moved on her, letting the tension stretch tight. My fingers trailed up her thigh, across the soft skin of her waist, smearing the blood from our hands onto her body. She shivered—half from the cold, half from the heat.

“You don’t even know what you do to me, Yumila...”

Her lips parted, and she let out the softest, breathy sound—like a whimper caught in her throat. Her hands gripped my shirt, pulling me closer like she couldn’t stand the space between us.

I didn’t wait for any more permission. I kissed her hard and rough, like I was starving for her, like I needed her to feel what I couldn’t say out loud. She kissed me back, deep and messy. Her tongue tangled with mine, and the taste of Henny and blood mixed on our lips.

I slid my hands down, gripped the back of her thighs, and pulled her closer until she was straddling me.

Her little black tank top rode up her waist. Her shorts were halfway off, like she didn’t even care anymore.

Her breath was cold on my neck, and her nails scratched down my chest, leaving marks I wanted her to leave.

She rocked her hips slowly at first, then harder, gasping into my mouth like she was breaking apart.

“Fuck, Hosea…” she whispered, hoarsely, and breath ragged.

I grabbed her face, made her look at me dead in my eyes. There was no running, no hiding.

“You mine now, Yummi. You hear me?”

She nodded, biting her lip, eyes wide but glassy like she was drunk off me.

“Yes…” she breathed. Her voice cracked, and it sent something snapping inside me.

I made her arch over the couch and then slowly and deeply slid inside her. I felt her whole body shudder around me. We moved like we were trying to break the fucking couch. We were grinding, gasping, and cursing under our breath to the sounds of skin, sweat, and whispered names.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was raw, messy, desperate, and claiming.

She cried out when I gripped her hips, pulling her down harder while her pussy walls clenched around me.

My hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back so I could bite her neck, leaving marks that weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Her nails dug into my chest, and her breath stuttered out in a sharp, shaky moan as she broke apart. Her whole body trembled.

I followed her over the edge, hips jerking and breath ragged. I was holding her so tight, she couldn’t move even if she wanted to. For a moment, we just lay there. We were sweaty, tangled, and breathing heavy like we’d just survived a storm.

And maybe we had. Because after that? There wasn’t just one night . There wasn’t a moment's doubt that this might not last . This was it.

Her and me. Mine. Forever.