I turned my back and walked away before he could see anything else on my face.
Before I could even reach the car, he shouted it.
"You understand now, nigga. Don't fuck with me ever again."
The words followed me like they were meant to stick. I didn't turn around. I slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door harder than I meant to.
"Drive," I said.
Grendel didn't ask where. The engine started and the street blurred past the window. My chest was tight. My jaw felt locked. My hands wouldn't stop moving—clenching, unclenching, gripping my knees like I was trying to hold myself together.
What the fuck do I do now?
Maxwell was already there, leaning back in his usual spot like this was entertainment.
"You can't kill him," he said. Calm. Certain.
"I know," I snapped.
"You don't have a replacement. Not one that can move that kind of volume. And you're not in a position to negotiate."
I hated that he was right.
I powered my phone back on and it exploded in my hands. Missed calls. Messages. Brooklyn's name stacked over and over like a warning I'd ignored too long.
Are you okay?
I saw what happened.
Please call me.
My stomach dropped. I called her immediately.
"Hey," I said, forcing my voice steady. "I'm fine. I swear."
She exhaled, relief bleeding through the line. "You scared me."
"I know. I'm sorry." I hesitated. "Can I… can I come over? Just for tonight."
There was a pause. Then she laughed softly. "Yeah. Of course."
"See you soon," I said, and ended the call before I could say anything stupid.
I leaned back, dragged my hands through my hair, fingers digging into my scalp.
"Fuck," I shouted, loud enough to hurt my own throat.
The car kept moving. And so did everything else.
By the time we pulled away from the curb, my head had stopped ringing, but the problem hadn't gone anywhere. Malik Armani wasn't something you scare off. You fix that kind of situation or it swallows you whole. And the only way to fix it wasn't force—it was alignment.
A common enemy.
I looked at Grendel. "Anyone moving in on his territory?"
He didn't even think about it. "Yeah. New kid. Calls himself Tory Grime."
The name sat there for a second. New. Loud. Stupid enough to make noise. Perfect.
"Set up a meet," I said. "All three of us."
Grendel nodded. I leaned back. "And drive me to Brooklyn's."
On the way, I told him to pull over. The shop was still open, lights buzzing like nothing in the world was wrong. I bought flowers—nothing fancy. Coffee. Donuts. Normal shit. The girl behind the counter looked tired, like she'd been on her feet all day. I tipped her a hundred and told her thank you for her service. Her eyes widened like I'd done something heroic. I hadn't. I just wanted something clean to touch.
Brooklyn's building felt quiet, too quiet. When I rang the bell and she opened the door, the relief hit me so hard it almost knocked me off balance.
"I got donuts, some coffee, and flowers," I said, holding everything up like proof I existed.
She smiled. Not polite. Real. "You didn't have to do all that."
"I wanted to."
We sat together, legs touching, eating sugar and drinking bad coffee like this was a normal morning. She kept glancing at me, like she was checking if I was still there.
"I saw the news," she said softly. "The shooting."
"I'm fine," I said. And for once, it wasn't a lie. "Wrong place. Wrong time."
She didn't push. She never did. That was part of it. She leaned in instead, her forehead against mine, like she was grounding me.
When we kissed, it wasn't rushed. No panic. No hunger that needed to be proven. Just slow, like we had time. Like the world wasn't waiting to collect on me.
The rest didn't need words.
After, everything felt quieter. Safer. She fell asleep curled into me like that was where she'd always belonged. I layed on her bed staring at the ceiling, listening to her breathe, trying to remember a version of myself that deserved this.
When I woke again, she was still asleep. Midnight caught in her hair. I reached for my phone carefully, like any sudden movement might break the moment.
Missed calls. Grendel.
I slid out of bed and went to the bathroom. The floor was warm under my feet. "Damn," I muttered. "These heated floors."
I picked up.
"I set it up," Grendel said. "Meet's confirmed. I'll be there in five."
"Fuck," I whispered.
I looked at myself in the mirror. The guy staring back didn't look like someone who should be here. He looked like someone passing through.
Maxwell's voice drifted in, smug as ever. "She was just a one-night stand, huh?"
"Shut up," I said under my breath.
But the thought stuck. Leaving now would make it look like that's all I wanted. Like she was a break between disasters.
I went back to the bedroom. She shifted slightly, murmured something in her sleep. I sat on the edge of the bed, hands on my knees, torn in half.
If I stayed, I might not make it out alive.
If I left, I might lose the only real thing I had left.
I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'll be back," I whispered, even though I didn't know if that was true.
My phone buzzed again.
Five minutes. It's already been 5 minutes.
"Wow". Grendel said in the most enthusiastic voice I have ever heard. "some night huh."
"Where we heading to?"
"Some chicken shops inside Peckham." Grendel replied.
"Drive."
I've been to Kensington. I've been to newham. I've seen both sides of the rich and the poor but Peckham is just something else. Gives me the same feeling as East London in the 00s when it was actually good. Or from what my 5 year old self can remember, old.
"Let's go boss."
The chicken shop smelled like grease and burnt oil, the kind that sticks to your clothes no matter how long you stay. Neon menu buzzing overhead. Plastic tables bolted to the floor. I slid into the seat without asking, Grendel already there beside me, quiet, alert. Tory Grimes sat opposite, legs spread, elbows on the table, eyes sharp like he was already counting exits.
I nodded at the counter. "You hungry?"
He looked at me like I'd insulted him. "I'm good."
Fair enough.
He leaned back. "So what does a white boy want with me?"
I smiled, slow. "Business."
He snorted. "Always is."
I tapped the table once. "I can give you an infinite supply. Coke. Heroin. Whatever moves. No shortages. No middlemen."
That got his attention. Not enough to show it, but enough.
"And?" he said.
"I need two things." I held up a finger. "One. Malik Armani dead."
His jaw tightened, just a flicker. I kept going. "Two. I need you to move the same volume he's moving now."
He laughed. Loud. Fake. "Why the fuck would I trust a punk-ass nigga like you to deliver on any of that?"
I didn't flinch. "Because I'm Malik Armani's supplier."
Silence. Real this time.
"He's getting out of hand," I continued. "Too loud. Too sloppy. Needs to be dealt with."
Tory stared at me, trying to peel me apart layer by layer. "And you think I'm your hitman?"
I shrugged. "I thought you were hungry."
I stood up, grabbed my tray like the conversation was over. "My mistake. Forget about it."
That did it.
"Wait."
I paused, didn't turn around yet.
"If I get rid of Malik," he said carefully, "you swear you deliver?"
I finally faced him again. "On my life."
That was enough for him. For now.
—
Back in the car, Grendel didn't speak until we were moving.
"You really gonna kill Malik Armani?" he asked.
I shook my head. "No."
He frowned. "Then what was all that?"
I looked out the window. "I'm waiting for Tory to try. And fail."
Grendel stayed quiet.
"If Tory fails," I continued, "I walk into Malik's world and tell him who pulled the trigger. Loyalty matters more than anything. Gangs don't care about blood. They care about who stood where."
"And if Tory succeeds?"
"Then I've got a pawn who can move weight."
Grendel exhaled. "You're cold."
"No," I said. "I'm tired."
I pulled my phone out and called Brooklyn.
No answer.
Again.
Straight to voicemail.
My chest tightened. I dragged a hand through my hair. "Fuck."
I leaned forward. "Take me to the warehouse."
Time moved slow in that place. Too slow. Concrete walls. Cold air. My thoughts bouncing back at me. I checked my phone again. Nothing.
Maxwell's voice crept in. "You fucked it."
"Shut up."
"You had something good. And you walked out."
"I didn't have a choice."
"You always have a choice. You just keep picking this one."
I stared at the floor. "I can fix it."
He laughed softly. "Yeah. But you gotta survive first."
Hours passed. Or minutes. Hard to tell.
Then the door opened.
Grendel walked in, face tight. "Malik Armani got shot."
I stood up immediately. "Dead?"
"No."
A grin split my face before I could stop it. "Perfect." I grabbed my jacket. "Which hospital?"
"Maudsley."
"Then let's fucking get a move on."
The city blurred past as we drove. Streetlights smearing across the windows. I tried Brooklyn again. Seventh time.
Aired.
Maxwell sighed. "You keep choosing chaos and wondering why peace doesn't wait for you."
"I just need to finish this," I said. "Then I'll go back."
"You keep saying that."
Grendel slowed. "We're here."
Maudsley Hospital stood quiet, sterile, too clean for the things that happened inside it. I walked in like I belonged there.
At the desk, I leaned in. "Malik Armani."
The nurse hesitated, eyes flicking over me. "Room 417."
I didn't thank her.
Outside the room, two men stood guard. One stepped forward immediately. "Who the fuck invited you?"
"I need to speak to him."
"If I see you in this area again," he said calmly, "I'll kill you."
I met his eyes. "Tell him I know who shot him."
That stopped him.
He turned, knocked once, then opened the door.
Inside, Malik Armani looked smaller than he did on the street. Tubes running from his arms. Oxygen mask fogging with each breath. Heart monitor ticking steady, then faster when he saw me.
I walked straight up to him.
The machine sped up.
I leaned down until my mouth was right by his ear.
"It was Tory Grimes," I whispered.
The monitor spiked.
I stayed there another second. "If you want to talk," I said quietly, "you know where to find me."
I stepped back, turned, and walked out before anyone could stop me.
Outside, the night felt colder.
But lighter.
For now.