30. Derek’s Destiny

In the aftermath of a devastating fire, Arnold’s plans for survival are shattered when a violent confrontation forces him to confront buried secrets and dangerous enemies.

Author's Note: This chapter is too long to fit in the email format, and I don’t want you to miss a thing. To get the full experience, head over to my Substack and read the story in its entirety here if you are seeing this message from your inbox.

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Trigger Warnings For This Chapter:

This chapter contains graphic violence, including physical assault and threats of harm, as well as emotionally intense scenes involving manipulation, coercion, and non-consensual drugging. There are references to physical and emotional distress, including fear of death, and moments of intense confrontation. Additionally, the chapter touches on sensitive topics related to trauma and power dynamics. Readers are encouraged to approach with care and prioritize their well-being.

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Previously on Derek’s Destiny: As Hakeem and Eden take their relationship to the next level, the growing tension between Hakeem and Derek becomes undeniable, with Derek’s deepening thirst for revenge threatening to shatter their friendship.

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Are you new to this series? If so, tap below to start from the very beginning…

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DEREK

I ran through the hospital halls like a man possessed, security on my heels, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn’t even stop when I reached Little Derek’s door—I just busted in. The sight that met me almost knocked the wind out of me. Ant, Angel, and my parents were gathered around the bed, and Little Derek…he was awake.

Angel was holding his hand, and Ant was rubbing her back while my parents stood on the opposite side of the bed, smiling.

I exhaled a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. When Ant called, telling me to get to the hospital now, I’d hung up mid-sentence, panic gripping me, assuming the worst. But now, seeing Little Derek awake and alert, my heart finally settled.

“D-Truth,” Little Derek greeted me, his voice soft but steady.

“Little man,” I said, making my way to him. My father stepped aside, giving me space to get closer. I held out my hand, and he dapped me up, that small gesture meaning more than words could. “Good to see you, kid.”

“I heard I missed you at the Jubilee,” he said, smiling up at me, his eyes bright.

I chuckled, sitting down in the chair my mom pulled up for me. “Yeah, but don’t worry—it’s recorded. My label’s talking about turning it into a music video. Shouted you out, too.”

His eyes lit up like Christmas. “For real?”

“For real,” I grinned, feeling a lightness I hadn’t felt in days. For a moment, the bullshit didn’t matter.

The Jubilee performance had been making its rounds everywhere—people couldn’t stop talking about the song, the energy, the message. Marcy, always the strategist, suggested we turn the footage my videographer captured into my next video. The song was already blowing up, downloads going crazy.

But what really struck me was when I told her whatever money the song brought in, it was going straight to the families of the crash. Angel, Little Derek, everybody else—hell, I wanted to make sure they got checks for the rest of their lives. They deserved that peace. That security.

The fans were hungry for new music, new anything and loved supporting the cause. Marcy had been practically begging me to come back to New York or at least get some performances lined up. I had a few booked for this week, but I postponed them all. Let the team deal with the fallout. I wasn’t trying to hear about anything else right now.

I had shit to handle in Juniper, and nothing was pulling me away from it—not even the flashing lights of the stage or the roar of the crowd. Right now, I was just happy I made it back to see Little Derek like this, to see him smile, to dap him up like the day we met.

The way he lit up when he saw me? That hit different. I scrubbed a hand over my face, trying to steady myself, trying to keep my emotions in check. I didn’t know what the hell I’d be walking into when I got here, but this? This was the moment I needed.

“He’s alright, just like ya’ll said he would be,” Angel smiled, her eyes never leaving her son, like she was afraid to blink, afraid that if she did, this moment might disappear.

Ant stood by her, arms folded, his voice low but full of pride. “He’s a fighter, just like his mama. Strong.”

Little Derek, propped up in that hospital bed, smirked, a little mischief in his eyes. “Can’t leave my mama hangin'. Plus, I haven’t even dropped my album yet.”

We all laughed, the sound filling the room, lightening the tension that had gripped me since I busted through those doors.

I leaned in, my hand resting on the edge of the bed. “We’ll get you in the studio as soon as you’re ready, aight?”

His eyes widened, a grin spreading across his face. “You serious?”

"For sure. Gotta make sure my son’s rap skills are up to par," I said, flashing Little Derek a smile that was all promise.

I could see the confusion flicker across his and Angel's faces when I called him my son, but the kid just shrugged it off. I knew in his mind, he thought it was cool. He was already looking up to me in ways that made my chest swell with pride.

But, of course, Ant had to cut in, shaking his head, breaking the moment. “He ain’t your son, Derek.”

I sucked my teeth, brushing him off with a dismissive wave. “Man, whatever.” Then I turned to Angel, leaning in with a grin, trying to lighten the tension. "Angel, tell him," I egged her on, knowing damn well she was caught off guard.

Angel blinked, still confused. “I’m sorry... what?” Her voice was soft, hesitant, like she wasn’t sure how to navigate whatever this was turning into.

“Anyway, Little Derek’s got a long road ahead,” my mom chimed in, her voice steady but laced with that motherly concern. “Physical therapy, recovery... he’s gonna be in a wheelchair for a bit, but if all goes well, he should be able to leave in about two weeks.”

I caught the flicker of worry flash across Angel’s face, her fingers tightening around her son’s hand like she was holding on for dear life.

I stepped forward, cutting through that tension quick. “Angel, whatever ya’ll need, we got you. You know that, right?”

Her head dipped for a moment, her voice soft as she spoke, “You’ve all done so much already—”

My father’s deep voice broke through before she could finish. “We take care of family, Angel. That includes you and Little Derek now.”

Angel looked up, eyes wide with emotion, but before she could protest again, my dad pressed on. “Now that you see him gettin' better, me and Paula can come sit with him sometimes so you can take a break.”

“I don’t know...” she hesitated, uncertainty heavy in her voice.

“Angel,” my father said, his tone gentle but firm, “life’s still happening out there, and you ain’t gotta carry this on your own. We’ll watch him sometimes, and he’ll still have his medical team right here. Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to him if you step out for a minute. Go to dinner, go to the beauty parlor, get some air. Have you a little fun.”

Angel’s eyes softened, but I could see she was still holding on tight, afraid to let go of that fear even for a second. But my father’s words, his calm authority, had a way of breaking down walls.

“Maybe Mr. Ant can take you on a date, Mama,” Little Derek said with a grin, his words dropping like a grenade in the room. Ant damn near choked on his spit, eyes wide, while I had to fight back a laugh. Seeing Ant—big, stoic, always-in-control Ant—flustered like that? Priceless. Angel’s face flushed so red, it looked like she wanted to disappear into the hospital floor.

Before anyone could say a word, the door creaked open, and just like that, the vibe in the room shifted.

Carlos.

He stepped in, scanning the room cautiously, eyes landing on me and Ant. He knew the deal—he couldn’t even breathe wrong around Angel or Little Derek without risking a beatdown.

“Son,” he said, his voice soft, like he was testing the waters, waiting to see if it was safe to come any closer.

“Hey, Dad,” Little Derek replied, smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The enthusiasm was gone, drained, like the kid was just playing along.

I wasn’t sticking around for this shit. I pushed up from the chair, deciding to offer it to him. My phone buzzed in my pocket anyway—a weird-ass number flashing on the screen. That let me know it was Dorian on a secure line.

Timing was everything.

I nodded at Carlos, not saying a word, and stepped out into the hallway. Once I was clear, I signaled to security, waving them back a few feet. I needed space. I needed privacy. Dorian didn’t call unless it was serious.

As I moved further down the hall, I could feel the weight of that call before I even picked up. Something was about to go down.

"Talk to me," I said, my voice low as I glanced over my shoulder, making sure no one was close enough to hear.

“We got eyes on both of ‘em. Johnathon’s laying low at his house, keeping real quiet. Arnold’s moving around, but we’re on him. Say the word, and we’ll bring ‘em in, start the procedures,” Dorian said, getting right to the point. No small talk. No bullshit.

I leaned against the cold hospital wall, my mind racing. “What you thinking?” I asked, my voice dropping even lower.

“Couple of torture devices. Got some new ones I’ve been wanting to try out before I hand ‘em over to the government,” he said casually, like we were discussing what to have for lunch.

I let out a breath, the idea swirling in my head. "Sounds messy."

Dorian chuckled. "It’s all in a controlled space. Disposal’s been arranged."

This was what I wanted, right? To make them feel pain. To make them scared. Hell, to eliminate the problem altogether. Johnathon and Arnold had crossed the line—they tried to harm Destiny, put Eden in a corner, and for what? Petty-ass revenge? I should've been eager to pull the trigger, but something made me pause. I couldn’t figure out why Hakeem wasn’t on the same page.

Dorian's voice broke through my thoughts, colder than ice. "Of course, I wouldn’t make anything permanent ‘til you get here. I know you’ll wanna...talk to them first.”

He sounded like the damn Grim Reaper, and part of me wanted to let him do what he did best. But I wasn’t the type to just let someone else handle my business. Not when it came to this. Not when it came to Destiny.

I ran my hand over my face, feeling the weight of the decision. If I gave the word, this could all be over. Clean. Swift. But it wouldn’t be enough.

“I’ll be there soon,” I said, my voice low, almost a growl. “But don’t start without me. I want them to see my face when it all goes down.”

I hung up, my chest still thudding like a war drum, the weight of my next moves settling in with every step down that hospital hallway. The fires I’d sparked in Juniper were just the prelude. What was coming next? That was where the real heat lived.

“Derek Quadeer Avery Harris, who was that on the phone?” My mother’s voice sliced through the air behind me, catching me off guard.

I spun around slow, putting on my best smile, though my mind was still racing in the dark.

“Ma, you sneakin’ up on me like you the police,” I said, half-joking, trying to mask the shadows creeping in.

She narrowed her eyes, that look only a Black mother could give—half warning, half love. “Boy, don’t play with me. You know better. Now who was that?”

“Just taking care of some business,” I said, my voice steady.

She didn’t say a word at first, just stood there, staring at me, her silence cutting deeper than anything she could’ve said. Then, slowly, she cocked her head to the side, her eyes narrowing like she was seeing right through every wall I tried to put up.

“What is it, Ma?” I asked, trying to sound casual, but confusion crept into my voice. I knew something was coming.

“You know, son,” she started, her voice low but sharp, “for all the mess you got into growing up, one thing you were never good at? Lying to your mother.”

She stepped closer, her presence heavy, and before I could move, her hands were on my face, gripping me tight. Her eyes searched mine, desperate, pleading. It was like she was trying to pull the truth out of me, whether I was ready to give it or not.

“What did they do to Destiny that has you with that look in your eyes, boy? I know that look.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I muttered, trying to shake her off, trying to dodge. But she wasn’t letting go. Her grip tightened, like I wasn’t a whole foot taller than her, like she still had the power to break me down with a touch.

“You think I don’t know the person I gave birth to, huh?” she asked, her voice shaking but fierce, that motherly authority in every word.

“Mom—”

She cut me off, her voice dropping to a whisper, but it carried more force than any shout ever could. “I wasn’t sure till today. But as soon as I saw you come through that door, I knew. You almost burned this whole city to the ground.” Her words hit like a punch. She leaned in closer, her tears brimming at the edges of her eyes, threatening to spill over. “And I know for you to go that far, it has something to do with Destiny.”

I clenched my jaw, trying to hold it all in, trying not to let her see the storm raging inside me. She knew me better than anyone, and right now, she was seeing the truth I wasn’t ready to admit.

"Maybe Lyman was up to no good, but you did that, Derek. You did!” Her voice cracked, a blend of frustration and fear cutting through the air like a knife. “Why? What did he do to Destiny?”

The messed up part? Lyman didn’t do shit directly to Destiny.

Truth was, my issue with him wasn’t personal—well, not in the way she thought. He didn’t lay a hand on her. But he sure as hell tried to fuck up Destiny’s event by pushing to cancel my performance at the Jubilee. That was enough for me. And yeah, I hated him for being the reason Johnathon even existed, for knocking up Johnathon’s mom and making him in the first place. Every time I looked at Lyman, I saw the man who created the problem that was Johnathon. And I couldn’t stand it.

And let's not forget the hypocrisy. Lyman out here preaching like he’s some saint, while quietly running a whole drug operation under the radar. His hands dirty as hell, and Arnold washing his money right in front of everyone’s face. That shit pissed me off too. But did he lay a hand on Destiny? Nah, he didn’t. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t part of the problem.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I muttered, lying through my teeth, but the weight of her gaze bore down on me like she could see right through the front I was putting up.

She let me go, her hands falling to her sides, her expression a mix of disappointment and something deeper. Pain, maybe. “Destiny is a good woman,” she whispered, her voice trembling like she was trying to hold herself together. “Lord knows, I’ve prayed for y’all to find your way back to each other.” She paused, her eyes searching mine. “But Derek... she’s your greatest strength and your greatest weakness.”

Those words hit like a gut punch, cutting through every bit of armor I thought I had left.

“When it comes to her, you don’t think,” she continued, her voice breaking, laced with frustration. “You just react. You do horrible things, Derek. Things I know you wouldn’t do if it wasn’t for her. You don’t care who gets caught in the crossfire, who gets hurt along the way. It’s been that way since you were kids. I thought you’d outgrow it. I thought you’d change.”

Her words felt like they were slicing me open, leaving me raw and exposed. She wasn’t wrong. Hell, she never was when it came to reading me.

Her body trembled, like she was holding back years of disappointment and fear. “Juniper was quiet,” she said, her eyes locking on mine. “And the minute you come back, everything’s on fire. Chaos. Everywhere. Why is that, Derek? Why does everything burn the moment you step foot back home?”

I took a step back, leaning against the wall, arms crossed tight over my chest, trying to keep my face from betraying the storm building inside me.

“Whatever happened, whatever is happening... stop while you’re ahead, Derek, or you’ll lose the very person you’re doing all this for,” my mother’s voice was thick with warning, cutting through the air like a blade.

I let out a deep breath, scrubbing my hands over my face, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on my shoulders. I stared up at the ceiling, my hands shoved deep in my pockets, like if I could just hide them, maybe I could hide the truth too.

“People hurt her... really bad,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

She just stood there, her eyes searching mine for what felt like forever. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but sharp. “And now you’re hurting them, and you’re not done are you?”

“I’m not,” I admitted, no hesitation in my words. There was no use lying.

She exhaled a deep, shaky breath, and then, just like that, the tears started. Watching them spill down her face? It tore me apart. I hadn’t seen my mother cry like that since I was a kid, and back then I swore I’d never be the reason for it again. But here I was, a grown-ass man, watching the woman who raised me break down because of me.

“You’re going to a place you won’t be able to come back from,” she cried, her voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know how deep you are in this, but emotionally... mentally... I see it in your eyes. You’re not you right now, Derek.”

Her words cut deep, the truth of them piercing through the haze I’d been walking in. She wasn’t the first to say it. Destiny had been echoing the same thing, over and over. Even after I came home from the fires, thinking we’d patched things up, something between us had shifted. The past couple of days had been heavy with silence, like we were both stuck in the eye of a storm, just waiting for it to pass.

We weren’t fighting anymore, but that almost made it worse. There was no fire, no argument to break the tension. Just this cold distance between us. She wouldn’t say much, wouldn’t touch me like she used to. And even when I tried to reach out, to bridge the gap, it was like her heart wasn’t in it. The same woman who was complaining about me not being close enough, was now pulling back.

And then there was Keem. The way he switched up on me? That shit was wild. One minute, he’s riding with me, talking about being down for whatever for Eden. The next, he’s telling me I’m going too far, that I need to chill.

My own family, my own people were turning on me, and the more they pushed back, the deeper I felt myself falling into this dark space I couldn’t seem to crawl out of.

“Mom, everything is going to be fine,” I tried to reassure her, stepping forward, reaching out to hug her, but she backed away, refusing to let me in.

“Who were you talking to?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“That’s not your concern,” I said, trying to keep my tone as respectful as possible, but even as the words left my mouth, I knew they weren’t the right ones.

Before I could even react, I felt the sting across my face—a sharp, hard slap. Ma was breathing heavy, her chest rising and falling like she’d been holding that in for years. Security started to move, but I lifted a hand, silently telling them to stand down.

Her eyes burned into mine, her voice fierce, shaking with anger and fear all at once. “Stop while you’re ahead, Derek. Stop.”

I stood there for what felt like an eternity holding my damn face, my mother’s words still hanging in the air like smoke from a fire that wouldn’t go out. She’d never hit me like that before. The sting wasn’t just physical—it cut deeper, straight to the core. But I couldn’t show it.

“Mom,” I said, my voice softer, but she wasn’t having it.

“No, Derek,” she interrupted, shaking her head, tears still falling. “Don’t do that. Don’t try to make this better with words. You need to understand, you’re walking down a path that has no end. You think you’re protecting her, but this... all this?” She waved her hand, gesturing towards me, towards everything I had become. “It’s gonna destroy her. It’s gonna destroy you.”

I pressed my lips together, refusing to let the frustration bubbling up inside me take control. She didn’t get it. No one did. This wasn’t just about me anymore. This wasn’t even about vengeance. It was about making sure Destiny never had to fear anything again.

“I know what I’m doing,” I said, my voice firm, trying to hold on to what little control I had left.

“You don’t,” she shot back, her voice trembling, but filled with a kind of desperation I hadn’t seen in her before. “You think you do, but you don’t. You’re so blinded by this anger, that you can’t even see the damage you’re causing. You think Lyman was the only one affected by those fires. You have people scared to death.”

Her words stabbed at me, but I kept my face neutral, my arms crossed over my chest like armor, like if I could block her out, I wouldn’t feel the weight of what she was saying. But deep down, I felt it. Felt every damn word.

“I’m doing this for her,” I said, my voice low, but filled with an intensity I couldn’t shake. “Everything I’m doing, everything I’ve done, it’s to keep her safe.”

“At what cost?” she asked, her voice breaking, her eyes searching mine for an answer. “At what cost, Derek? You think she wants this? You think she wants to look at you and see the man who burned down a city for her? Who brought hell to Juniper because he couldn’t let go?”

I clenched my jaw, trying to hold back the anger, the frustration. She didn’t get it. She couldn’t. This was about making sure the people who hurt her—who tried to destroy her—never had the chance to do it again.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” I said, stepping away, the distance between us growing, not just physically, but in every way that mattered. “But I’m not stopping.”

“Derek,” she called after me, her voice trembling, broken. “Please. I’m begging you. Don’t do this.”

But I was already moving, making my way down the hallway. “I’m doing what needs to be done.”

“Think about that little boy in there who looks up to you,” she said, her voice softer now, but each word cut deep. “Wants to be just like you. Do you even realize what it meant to him when you walked through that door? When he saw you, not his own father, but you?”

I clenched my jaw, refusing to turn around, refusing to let her see the conflict warring inside me. But her words kept coming, pushing, digging into me.

The air in the hallway felt heavier, like it was closing in on me. I didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to think about what that kid, that innocent boy, would think of me if he knew the truth. If he saw the side of me I was trying so damn hard to keep hidden.

“This is who you want him to look up to?” she asked, her voice slicing through the silence like a blade. “This version of you?”

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of her words settle in my chest like a ton of bricks. Little Derek. The kid who lit up every time I walked into the room. The kid who wanted to be just like me. Hell, he even had my name. And here I was, about to walk out of this hospital, about to go do some shit that no one should ever look up to.

I could hear her take a shaky breath behind me, like she was trying to hold it together, trying to reach me in a way only a mother could. “You’re a hero to him, Derek. But you keep going down this road, and he’s gonna see something else. Someone else.”

I finally turned around, locking eyes with my mother. Her face was streaked with tears, her expression filled with a mix of desperation and fear, and maybe even a little hope.

“This version of me…” I started, my voice low, rough, barely holding it together. “It’s the only version that can keep Destiny safe.”

Her eyes searched mine, like she was trying to find the boy she’d raised somewhere deep in there. But all she found was a man who had already made up his mind.

“I can’t be what you want me to be right now, Ma,” I said, my voice steady but filled with a kind of sadness I hadn’t let myself feel in a long time.

She shook her head, the tears flowing freely now. “You’re gonna lose her anyway if you keep going like this, Derek. And worse, you’ll lose yourself.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling in my chest like a cinder block, but I couldn’t let it stop me. Not now. Not with everything on the line, and definitely not with the fires I’d already set. This was bigger than me, bigger than any guilt they were trying to pile on.

I turned on my heel, every step feeling heavier than the last, but I kept moving. Security flanked me, their footsteps echoing mine as we made our way to the exit. The silence was thick, but I was too deep in my head to care.

I pulled out my phone, dialing the one person who could help me finish what I started. The one man I trusted to handle shit when it got too deep.

“Dorian,” I muttered as soon as he picked up, my voice low, cold, as I moved through the hallway like a shadow. “I need a location.”

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ARNOLD

Photo by Devon MacKay on Unsplash

The smell of smoke still clung to me, the bitter stench seeping into my skin, a constant reminder of the wreckage that used to be my club. The place was nothing but a pile of charred wood and ashes now. I’d just come back from staring at the smoldering remains, like they might magically piece themselves back together if I looked long enough. Nothing left. Not even hope.

Now I sat in my dimly lit living room, the weight of it all pressing down on me, suffocating. The walls felt like they were closing in, getting tighter with every breath I took, every thought that raced through my head. It was as if the air itself had thickened, trapping me in this tomb of a house where the only sound was the occasional groan of old wood settling, and the deafening silence that followed.

My club—my uncle’s legacy, the place I swore I’d turn into something bigger, better—was gone. The flames had ripped through it like they were sent from hell itself, and by the time I got the call, it was too late. It was gone. Everything. And the worst part? I couldn’t even collect on it.

I stared at the insurance paperwork spread out on the coffee table in front of me, the words blurring together. My hands trembled as I picked up one of the documents, shaking my head in disbelief. How the hell had I been so stupid? How did I let myself get hustled into a bullshit insurance plan that didn’t cover half the shit I needed? No fire coverage. No full liability. Just the bare minimum I thought I could skate by with.

I let out a low, bitter laugh, the sound hollow in the empty room. I’d spent years building that place up, thinking I could ride the line, cut corners, keep more of the profits in my pocket. But I’d gotten too comfortable, too cocky. I thought I had it all figured out. Turns out, I didn’t know shit.

The numbers ran through my head like a sick game of Russian roulette. The money I owed, the people I had to pay off, the vultures circling. I was running out of time, out of options. And I had no idea how the hell I was going to climb out of this hole. There was no backup plan, no safety net. Just a sinking feeling in my gut and a pile of bills I couldn’t pay.

The knock at the door broke through the fog in my head. I jumped, heart pounding, staring at the door like it was a ghost. I wasn’t expecting anyone—definitely not at this hour.

“Who the fuck is it?” I barked, my voice rough from stress and lack of sleep.

“Open the door, Arnold. We need to talk.”

That voice. The kind of voice that makes your stomach twist in knots before you even hear the words. I stood, wiping my hands on my jeans, trying to steady my nerves. There wasn’t much that could make this situation worse—but the fact that someone had come knocking, in the middle of the night, didn’t sit right with me.

I cracked the door open, just enough to see if it was who I thought it was, and my blood pressure shot straight through the roof. There he was—Johnathon. The last motherfucker I wanted to see for the rest of my natural Black ass life.

“The fuck you doin’ here, man?” I asked, voice low, laced with all the venom I could muster.

Johnathon shifted on the porch, eyes darting around like a paranoid crackhead. “L-Let me in,” he stammered.

I leaned out, scanning the dark street behind him, looking for anything that might be off. Nothing. But my gut told me something was wrong. Against my better judgment, I opened the door wider, giving him a look that screamed this better be good.

“Fuck you want?” I asked, turning my back on him, already regretting letting him in.

That’s when it hit me. Literally.

Pain exploded in the back of my skull, sharp and hot, like a firecracker going off inside my head. I stumbled forward, my vision blurring as a second blow landed—this time a boot to my ribs. My head hit the floor hard, my breath knocked clean out of me, then rough hands grabbed me by the collar, dragging me across the room like I was nothing. They shoved me onto my own damn couch, my head spinning, pain throbbing in my body.

“The fuck?” I managed to get out, blinking through the haze as I looked up.

Two men stood over me, both of them wearing ski masks, the dim light barely catching the edges of their faces. One of them, though, I recognized immediately. He might’ve tried to cover it up, but I’d know that presence anywhere. D-Truth. He had long sleeves on, gloves hiding his tats, but it was him. No question. The way he carried himself, the way he moved, like he owned the room even though he hadn’t said a word yet. The shorter dude next to him? He had a gun out, aimed right at me.

And then there was Johnathon, huddled in the corner, shaking like a wet dog, hands up in surrender like the gun was pointed at him. His bitch ass was crying—tears streaming down his face like he was the one getting worked over, not me.

“You set me up, Johnathon?” I growled, forcing the words out even though every inch of my body screamed in pain.

“I—I—” Johnathon stuttered, eyes wide and wild, looking from me to D-Truth like he was caught in a trap he didn’t see coming.

“Shut the fuck up,” the gunman barked, his voice cutting through the tension like a razor, turning his attention back to me. “Told you I was coming to see you, pussy.”

Shit. It was him—the voice from the phone when I called Eden. My stomach dropped.

“What you want, man?” I asked, my voice tight, trying like hell to keep the fear from leaking out. I wasn’t about to let these bastards see me scared, even though my heart was pounding like it was about to fall out my ass.

The tall one stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his eyes locked on me through the mask.

“Need you to come up off them Polaroids of Destiny,” he said, his voice low, dangerous, like a rattlesnake coiled and ready to strike. There was no question in his tone—just a statement, like he already knew how this was gonna play out. Like the end was already written, and I was just too slow to catch up.

My heart pounded, but I forced myself to play it cool. I straightened up, trying to ignore the sharp pain in my ribs, the throbbing in my skull that made it feel like it was about to split clean in two. But the truth was, I was rattled—more than I’d ever been. Because that voice? I’d know that voice anywhere.

That was D-Truth’s ass, no doubt. I knew it deep in my bones, the same way I knew the hook to every one of his songs. I’d had all his albums on repeat for years, memorized his flow like it was a damn mantra. But hearing that voice in real life, in this situation? That was something else entirely.

This wasn’t the charismatic, smooth-talking rapper the world loved. Nah, this was the man beneath all that—the one who’d made a name long before he ever picked up a mic. And here he was, standing in my living room, eyes cold and deadly, looking at me like he was deciding whether I was worth letting breathe another day.

“They got burned up in my club,” I said, my face a mask of calm, though my mind was screaming at me to run.

D-Truth didn’t flinch. He just stared at me, like he could smell the lie. Hell, maybe he could.

His hand shot out, thick fingers clamping around my throat like a vice. Before I could even react, he yanked me off the couch, lifting me clean off my feet like I weighed nothing. My legs kicked helplessly, boots scraping against the air as I dangled there, gasping for breath. The room spun, and I could feel the blood rushing to my head, my vision tunneling, the walls closing in. His grip tightened, and all I could think about was how I might never breathe again.

“We know for a fact those pictures weren’t in that club,” he growled, his voice low, dripping with menace. His breath was hot against my face, his grip unrelenting. “And we know you didn’t send no digital copies to nobody. That was smart. So when I let you go, you better go find them pictures—unless you want your people to find your corpse in the morning. Got it?”

I wheezed, barely able to nod, my voice strangled. “G-Got it.”

He released me like he was letting go of something hot, and I crumpled to the floor like a rag doll, coughing and gasping, my throat burning. I hit the ground hard, hands clutching my neck, fighting to catch my breath. My lungs screamed for air as I struggled to pull myself together.

“Johnathon,” the gunman barked, turning his cold gaze on him, “go help your boy!”

Johnathon opened his mouth, his voice shaking. “I don’t—”

Before he could finish, D-Truth—because it had to be him—grabbed him by the neck, his fingers digging in deep, and shoved him hard in my direction. Johnathon stumbled forward, tripping over his own feet, his eyes wide with terror.

“Get y’all asses up,” D-Truth snarled, voice cutting through the room like a razor, “and bring me my fucking pictures. Or this place is gonna go up in flames too.”

My heart stopped. Did he know? Did he know who set my club on fire? Whoever did it had fucked me over royally—wiped out my entire operation, both legal and illegal, in one night. My business? Gone. Just like that. And Lyman’s ass was sitting pretty up at Juniper PD, no help to me now.

But there wasn’t time to think. Not now. Not with a gun pointed at me and D-Truth breathing down my neck. I dragged myself to my feet, my legs shaky but moving, adrenaline taking over. I didn’t have a choice.

I started walking toward my bedroom, feeling every pair of eyes on me, their footsteps heavy as they followed. The tension was thick, the kind that made your skin prickle, knowing one wrong move could be your last. My hand shook as I reached for the door, my mind racing a mile a minute. The light flicked on behind me, casting long shadows on the walls as I headed for the closet.

Where the hell were those pictures?

“Let’s go, Hey Arnold! Lookin' like you got a football for a head for real!” the gunman chuckled, his voice dripping with mockery.

“Hey Arnold!” D-Truth chimed in, his voice thick with amusement, mimicking the cartoon like it was the funniest shit he’d ever heard.

Fuck these niggas, man. My blood boiled as I rifled through the shoeboxes in my closet, my hands shaking with frustration. I couldn’t believe Johnathon had dragged me into this mess. My head was pounding, mind racing, and I could barely remember where I’d stashed the damn Polaroids. Probably high as hell when I hid 'em, thinking I was slick. Now, I was scrambling, sweating, and praying I didn’t come up empty.

“Hurry the fuck up!” D-Truth growled, his patience thinning like a razor’s edge. I could feel his eyes boring into the back of my head, every second ticking by like a countdown to my own execution.

“And didn’t I tell you to help his ass?” D-Truth barked, shoving Johnathon into the closet. The dumbass stumbled forward, his face slamming against the wall with a sickening thud.

“Ah! My tooth!” Johnathon squealed, clutching his mouth, blood spilling from his lip. He sounded like a child who’d just gotten his first whooping—pathetic and scared.

I stopped for a second, looking at his sorry ass on the floor. This motherfucker. The urge to just leave him there and let him rot crept up, but I didn’t have the luxury of standing still. Not with D-Truth and his goon looming over me, breathing down my neck.

“Man, get the fuck up,” I muttered under my breath, pushing past him as I tore through more boxes, my frustration mounting. My palms were sweaty, my fingers fumbling with lids and paper, every second feeling like a noose tightening around my throat.

The light overhead flickered, casting eerie shadows over the room. I could feel the walls closing in, the pressure suffocating. The gunman shifted, his presence heavy, and I knew he wasn’t gonna wait much longer. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, a frantic rhythm that matched the panic clawing at my gut.

Finally, my fingers brushed against something familiar. I yanked out the envelope, my breath catching in my throat. The Polaroids. I felt a sick twist of relief—and dread.

I turned, locking eyes with D-Truth’s masked figure. The room felt like it was spinning, the weight of everything crashing down at once. I wasn’t sure how this was gonna play out, but I knew one thing: I had the pictures, and they had the power.

“How do I know you ain’t gonna kill me after I give you these?” I asked facing him, my voice tight, my grip tightening around the envelope like it was my only lifeline. It was the only leverage I had left.

D-Truth’s eyes narrowed, the tension between us thick as the stench of fear in the air. He stepped forward, closing the distance between us with a slow, deliberate swagger that made my pulse jackhammer in my chest.

“Just know for sure you’ll be dead if you don’t give ‘em to me,” he said, his voice low, calm, like he was telling me the weather. But there was venom behind it, a promise I knew he’d keep. “Matter of fact —”

Before I could even process the threat, he snatched the envelope out of my hands like it was nothing—like I wasn’t even holding on. My fingers flinched, but the truth hit me hard. Fuck. This wasn’t just a rapper playing tough. D-Truth was a real gangster, the kind you didn’t cross. His reputation in Juniper was practically legend—the kind of legend that involved too many broken bones and a dude who almost didn’t make it home from some party he got beat half to death at. Even back then, before he blew up, people whispered about the ass-whippings he handed out like they were souvenirs.

I never thought I’d end up on the wrong side of D-Truth’s reputation, but here I was. I’d pushed my luck too far, and now it was snapping back hard. Regret hit me like a punch. I should’ve stayed away from Destiny back in college, but I didn’t. Back then, everyone knew she used to be with D-Truth, and being with her felt like standing in his shoes.

It was an ego thing. A lot of us thought like that—young, dumb, chasing clout. Her choosing me back then? It made me feel like I was on his level. But now? That same decision was coming back to bite me.

Messing with Destiny might’ve made me feel like somebody back then, but now it was making me feel like a dead man walking.

I watched as D-Truth tore open the envelope, flipping through the Polaroids like he was checking receipts. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out the sound of everything else, but then I saw movement. The gunman. He raised his piece, leveling it right at me, his eyes cold and unblinking behind the ski mask.

My throat tightened, every muscle in my body coiled with fear. The kind of fear that digs into your bones, that reminds you how close you are to the edge of life and death. I couldn’t move. I was frozen, watching the barrel of that gun like it was the last thing I’d ever see.

D-Truth kept flipping through the pictures, silent. My leverage was gone, snatched away in the blink of an eye. Now it was all about whether D-Truth decided to let me walk—or leave me bleeding on the floor of my own damn house.

The gunman didn’t flinch. The barrel of his piece stayed locked on me, steady as a heartbeat.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as sandpaper. The room seemed to close in on me, the air thick like it was pressing down on my chest. Every second felt like it stretched into forever. I was trapped, and both of us knew it.

D-Truth let out a long, slow sigh, the sound like a fuse burning down to the explosion.

“What did you do to her to get her to take these?” he asked, his voice low, but dangerous—like a storm building on the horizon.

I froze, the weight of his question settling in my gut like a lead bullet. I knew the answer was about to fuck me six ways to Sunday.

D-Truth’s fingers flicked through the Polaroids like they were burning his hands. He stopped on one, staring hard. “Look at her fucking eyes,” he said, his voice shaking just a little. “That’s not her... That’s not my…” He trailed off, shaking his head, the disbelief cutting through his usual cold demeanor.

D-Truth stared at the Polaroids like they were burning a hole straight through his soul, his jaw clenched so tight I could hear the teeth grinding from across the room. His whole body was tense, like a predator about to strike, the kind of quiet rage that made you sweat even in the coldest room.

The gunman beside him hadn’t moved an inch, but his eyes kept flicking between me and D-Truth, like he knew something was brewing beneath the surface, something that could explode any second. He was waiting, watching, ready to move if it came to that.

“He asked you a question, football head,” the gunman snapped, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. It was sharp, cold, breaking the silence but not the pressure that hung in the room like a storm cloud.

D-Truth didn’t look at me, didn’t say a word. He just kept flipping through those pictures, his hands steady but his eyes burning with something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I could feel the danger rising, like the moment just before lightning strikes.

I gulped again, my throat dry as sandpaper, my mind racing for any lie, something, anything that might save my ass. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to break through my chest. “She... she wanted to—” I started, stammering, but the words felt like acid on my tongue, and I barely got the lie out before I saw it coming—his rage.

“I—I—” My voice cracked, my mouth moving faster than my brain. “I asked her to pose for me... she liked to do that sometimes.” The lie spilled out, weak and hollow, but it was all I had.

D-Truth’s eyes snapped up from the pictures, and in that moment, I knew I’d said the wrong thing.

The lie wasn’t gonna save me. If anything, it was digging my grave faster.

D-Truth’s hand shot up, ripping the mask off his face in one fluid motion, and there he was, his eyes burning into mine, full of raw fury. In the next breath, he snatched the gun from his homeboy’s grip and lunged at me. His hand wrapped around my throat like a steel vise, lifting me clean off the floor, and he slammed me against the wall so hard the drywall cracked.

Before I could even process what was happening, he jammed the barrel of the gun in my mouth, the cold metal clanging against my teeth. My breath caught, panic shooting through me like electricity.

“What did you do to her, Arnold?” he growled, his face inches from mine, his voice a low, menacing rumble. His breath was on my face, and his eyes, dark and furious, bored into mine like he was trying to rip the truth out of me.

I tried to speak, tried to answer, but the gun in my mouth made it impossible. All that came out was a choked, muffled sound as I struggled to breathe, the cold metal pressing against my tongue. I could taste the gunpowder, the bitter metallic tang filling my mouth as he tightened his grip on my throat.

He wanted me to see his face? Yeah, I was a goner.

The realization hit me like a freight train, cold and hard. D-Truth wasn’t hiding anymore—he was laying it all out. That mask wasn’t about anonymity; it was about control. And now that it was off, there was no turning back. He wasn’t just here to scare me. Nah, this was a message. He wanted me to know exactly who was about to pull the trigger, and why.

The look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. I wasn’t getting out of this. My stomach dropped, and for the first time, I felt the cold grip of death creeping in.

D-Truth’s homeboy stepped forward, laying a hand on his shoulder, but it didn’t matter. There was murder in D-Truth’s eyes, raw and burning, the kind you didn’t talk down from.

“He can’t answer you like that,” he said, his voice calm, as if this was just another day in the office.

D-Truth’s eyes flicked between him and me, the rage still simmering just beneath the surface. He hesitated, then yanked the gun out of my mouth, his grip loosening on my neck just enough for me to suck in a ragged breath. My throat was raw, burning, but at least I could breathe again.

“You used to make her something to drink,” D-Truth said, his voice quiet but deadly, like a loaded gun cocked and ready to fire.

Fuck. She told him that? My stomach dropped, and I closed my eyes, the cold truth settling in my bones. I was dead. Maybe not right this second, but I wasn’t leaving this room alive. Not after this. Might as well be honest.

“She said she’d just gotten out of a bad situation a few months prior,” I muttered, my voice low, the tremble crawling into my words no matter how hard I tried to steady it. My throat felt tight, like the truth was choking me on the way out. “Didn’t want to get physical with me. So... I’d give her something to loosen her up when she’d come over.” I paused, the weight of what I was about to admit settling in like concrete. “It was the only way she’d let me hit but, it was just that one t—”

I barely had time to blink before D-Truth’s fist crashed into my face. I didn’t see it coming, didn’t have time to brace for it. One second, I was talking, the next, I was tasting blood. My whole face exploded in pain, my nose leaking like a busted faucet. Got damn, it felt like he shattered my whole skull in one hit.

“Fuck!” I groaned, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor. My head was spinning, my vision blurry as I wiped my face with the back of my hand, looking around the room like a cornered animal searching for an escape. But there was none.

Then bam! Another hit. And another. My head snapped back like I was stuck in a pinball machine, his fists landing on me from every angle, making my face feel like it was molded from clay. I could barely keep track of where the punches were coming from—it was all a blur of pain and blood.

The motherfucker was relentless, pounding me like he was auditioning for the role of Mike Tyson in his biopic, not spitting verses. I tried to brace myself, tried to find my balance, but every blow knocked me further off center, like I was getting tossed around in a storm. He finally stopped, leaving me crumpled on the floor, my head swimming, my ribs on fire.

I lay there, trying to get my bearings, the taste of copper heavy in my mouth. My body was wrecked, every inch of me aching, but the worst part? The humiliation. D-Truth had just reminded me who was in charge—who had all the power—and all I could do was sit there and take it.

Why was this nigga rapping? I thought, my mind dazed as I tried to piece it all together. He should be a damn UFC fighter.

I blinked, forcing my eyes to focus as I tried to push myself off the floor, but my body wasn’t ready to cooperate. All I could do was breathe through the pain and hope that the beating was over—for now.

I glanced at the gunman, then at Johnathon, but neither of them moved a muscle. Johnathon was still hunched over, trying to stop the bleeding from his own nose, useless as ever.

Then I heard it—the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking. My head snapped up, and there he was, D-Truth, standing over me with the gun pointed right at my face. The cold barrel gleamed in the low light, steady as a stone, while the world around me spun out of control.

My heart raced, slamming against my chest as the reality hit me. This was it. No more threats, no more words. The only thing between me and death was the pressure of his finger on that trigger. My entire life, everything I thought I was, everything I thought I could be—none of that mattered anymore.

“D-Truth...” I croaked, my voice barely a whisper. But there was no mercy in his eyes. Only rage. The kind of rage you can’t come back from.

Time seemed to slow down, the seconds stretching out, every breath a struggle. The only thing I could think about was whether I’d even have time to feel the bullet when it hit.

I dropped to all fours, the weight of my fear crashing down on me like an avalanche. My hands trembled, and I could barely choke out the words. “I’m sorry... Tell Destiny I’m sorry...” The tears spilled out, burning hot against my cheeks. I knew, deep down, that this was it. The way D-Truth looked at me, eyes black as night, empty of anything but cold rage—it was the look of a man who had already decided my fate.

“I was fucked up back then,” I sobbed, the desperation thick in my voice, clinging to whatever shred of mercy I thought might be left. But there was none. Not for me.

D-Truth stood over me, his shadow swallowing the room. “How did you find out her secret? When you drugged her? Huh?” he asked, his voice like a death sentence.

I shook my head, a bitter chuckle escaping my lips. It was almost funny, in a twisted way. “I don’t know her secret,” I confessed, my voice raw, broken. “I don’t know what it is.”

He tilted his head, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You told Eden you were going to go to the police and ruin Destiny. Said you knew what she was hiding.”

“She never told me,” I blurted out, the panic rising in my chest. “She just... she told me one night when she was... under the influence... that she was a bad person, that she’d done something so bad she could go to jail. But she never said what it was. I tried to get it out of her, I swear. But she just giggled... then she passed out.”

D-Truth’s gaze hardened, his silence deafening.

“On everything, man, she never told me what it was,” I pleaded, my voice shaking, heart racing like I was already feeling the bullet tear through my skin. “I just said that shit to Eden to scare her, to make her fall in line. I knew I had the pictures, so I figured...”

My voice trailed off, the truth hanging in the air like a noose. I looked up at him, hoping—praying—that somehow this confession would save me. But the darkness in his eyes didn’t waver. There was no forgiveness there, no understanding. Just the cold, hard reality of what I’d done.

The gun still hovered in his hand, steady, unwavering. I was on my hands and knees, pleading for my life, but I could see it—he’d already made up his mind.

Before I could even gather my breath again, I heard Johnathon’s trembling voice cut through the thick silence. “Dear Lord... sweet Jesus, please... please save us,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, his words shaky like he was trying to hold his soul together with prayer.

He was standing off to the side, his whole body trembling like a leaf in a storm. His hands were clasped together, eyes squeezed shut, as if the harder he prayed, the quicker God might swoop down and snatch him from this nightmare. Sweat poured down his face, dripping onto his shirt, soaking through like he’d just run a marathon.

“Jesus, Jesus, please,” Johnathon mumbled, his voice cracking. “I-I don’t wanna die... Lord, please, I’m beggin’ you...”

D-Truth shot him a look so sharp it could’ve cut glass, the anger in his eyes shifting for just a moment, like he couldn’t believe the pathetic sight in front of him.

“Shut the fuck up, Johnathon,” the gunman growled, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. Johnathon flinched, his knees buckling as he stumbled back against the wall, his hands still shaking.

But Johnathon didn’t stop. His prayers poured out of him, louder now, his voice cracking with panic, each word more frantic than the last. “Please, God... don’t let us die like this. Don’t let me die here! I’ll change, I swear! I’ll do better, I’ll—”

D-Truth’s patience snapped like a brittle wire. “If you don’t shut the fuck up,” he growled, not even bothering to look at Johnathon, keeping his eyes and gun trained on me, “I’ll send you on the express train to meet the big man upstairs myself.”

Johnathon whimpered, his voice choking off into a pitiful sob as he shrank back, his hands trembling, but the prayers stopped. Fear hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Every nerve in my body was on fire, waiting for the bullet, waiting for the sound of the gunshot that would split the silence and end everything.

D-Truth stood over us like a God of war, eyes cold and unblinking, the gun heavy in his hand, poised to deliver final judgment. My heart pounded in my chest, a relentless hammering that echoed in the stillness. It was as if time itself had frozen, the air so thick with tension that even the walls seemed to hold their breath.

Then the shorter, pudgy one, standing just behind D-Truth, stepped forward, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. His face was a mask of disdain as he looked down at us, shaking his head like we weren’t even worth his time.

“These niggas out here doing amateur hour,” he said, his voice laced with disgust, each word dripping with contempt. He glanced at D-Truth, his lip curling into a sneer. “He ain’t even worth the bullet.”

I was sure those words meant nothing. They felt like smoke in the wind, empty and drifting. D-Truth had already made up his mind—I could see it in the cold finality in his eyes. It was over for me.

My family would find me dead in my own bedroom, and D-Truth would get away with it, just because of who he was. He probably had a clean-up crew waiting outside, ready to whisk away my body like I never existed. A missing poster with my face plastered on it would be the only trace I’d leave behind. Either way, the ending was the same—I was done.

No matter what I said, no matter how I begged, it wouldn’t change a thing. His decision had been made long before he stepped into my house. And maybe... maybe I deserved it. Maybe every bad choice, every selfish move had led me right to this moment, staring down the barrel of my own regret.

I could feel the weight of it all pressing down on me—my sins, my failures, everything I’d done to get here. And now? Now it was catching up to me, and I was powerless to stop it.

D-Truth crouched down in front of me, so close I could smell the sweat on him, the sharp tang of gunmetal filling the space between us. The gun hung loosely in his hand, swaying just inches from my face like it was teasing me, daring me to make a move.

His eyes locked onto mine, dark and unreadable, but burning with that quiet, dangerous rage I knew all too well. He didn’t speak for a long moment, just stared, sizing me up, the weight of his presence pressing down on me like a lead blanket. I thought he might pull the trigger just to watch me suffer. But instead, he let out a slow breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the lowlife standing in front of him.

“You’re a real piece of shit, Arnold,” D-Truth growled, his voice low but laced with venom, each word sliding under my skin like a blade. “Thought you could extort Destiny—play her like she was some weak little girl, drag Eden into your fucked-up game. All for what? A hundred grand? I wipe my ass with that. Could’ve tossed it to you as a tip at a night out at your club if you’d asked nice. But instead, you thought you could threaten my woman, hang that secret over her head like a noose.”

He leaned in closer, his face inches from mine, his eyes dark, cold, and full of the kind of rage that made your blood run cold. “You don’t even know what the secret is, but you were ready to destroy her life for a little pocket change. That’s who you are, Arnold. All greed, no spine.”

He paused, letting the silence stretch out like a blade before his voice dropped even lower, dangerous, like thunder rumbling just before the storm hits. “And the pictures?” His words came out slow, deliberate, each syllable dripping with menace. “You were really gonna put her out there like that? Humiliate her? For what? So you could puff up your chest and tell people you used to fuck D-Truth’s wife? When she doesn’t even remember because you drugged her to get it.”

“That’s rape, Arnold,” D-Truth said, his voice steady but dripping with barely controlled fury, his eyes locked on me, unblinking. I could feel every syllable, like a punch to the gut, winding me, making it harder to stay standing. “You took advantage of her... no consent. And she don’t even know. How the fuck am I supposed to tell her that?” His words hit like a hammer to my chest, each one landing harder than the last, until I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

He paused, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the tension in his neck, his fists trembling at his sides like he was holding back the urge to tear me apart. “She’s been through enough already,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion now, the struggle clear. “One more fucking thing I gotta protect her from…”

His words faltered for just a heartbeat, like he was battling with something inside, but then that darkness returned. Cold. Unforgiving. “But that’s why you needed your ass beat at minimum,” D-Truth growled, his voice low, vibrating with a barely contained rage. “You don’t even deserve this bullet... too easy.” He paused, his gaze unflinching as the weight of what he was saying sank into the room like lead.

“I should slice your fucking throat,” he continued, his words sharper than any blade, “gut you like the animal you are.”

The finality in his tone was ice-cold, not a threat but a promise. It was like he had already carried out the sentence in his mind, already seen me bleed out on the floor, and was just letting the moment stretch before making his move. There was no hesitation, no flicker of doubt. Just a raw, deadly certainty.

The disgust in his eyes was so strong it made my skin crawl. He looked at me like I was something beneath him, something rotten, something that needed to be erased.

“Who the fuck raised you?” His words were sharp, each one designed to cut deeper than the last, stripping away any last bit of dignity I had. “I think I’d be doing the whole world a favor by ending you right here. I know the women in Westonberry and Juniper would be better off with your ass gone.”

My throat tightened, my breath catching in my chest, but I couldn’t respond. There was nothing I could say. No defense, no excuse that would save me from the truth of what I’d done.

“And Eden?” D-Truth’s voice flared with a fresh wave of anger, rising like a storm about to break. His eyes flashed with fury, sparks ready to ignite. “You dragged her into this too. Used her like a pawn in your twisted little game. She trusted you, Johnathon, and you turned that into something ugly, handed her off to this sick motherfucker.”

He shot me a look of pure disgust before turning back to Johnathon, who was trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. “You’re lucky she didn’t get hurt worse than she did. If she had?” D-Truth’s voice dropped low, the menace in it unmistakable, like the calm right before the lightning strikes.

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room, his gaze hard as stone, unflinching. “We wouldn’t even be having this conversation right now,” he said, his voice cold, matter-of-fact. “You’d already be dead.”

I felt Johnathon trembling beside me, but I didn’t dare look at him. He was probably praying to whatever god would listen, hoping D-Truth would show mercy. But mercy wasn’t something you could expect from a man like him, not after what we’d done.

“I love Destiny,” D-Truth said, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. “And that’s the only reason you’re still breathing. You and this coward over here,” he nodded toward Johnathon, who let out another whimper. “I love her enough to let y’all walk out of here tonight. But if you ever—ever—try to hurt her again, or if you even think about bringing up that secret, I swear on everything I love, I will not hesitate to end you. Both of you.”

D-Truth’s eyes flicked back and forth between me and Johnathon, his voice low and dangerous as he continued, “You speak one word about tonight, and it’s over. You breathe about what happened here, and I’ll send people for you. No warnings, no mercy. You won’t see it coming, and when it does, you’ll know it’s me. I’m not hiding.”

He stood up, straightening to his full height, the gun still in his hand but now hanging loosely by his side. He paused, letting the silence stretch out, his eyes hard and unflinching. “If either of you even so much as look at her, think about hurting her, I won’t just come for you. I’ll come for everyone you care about.”

I swallowed hard, the gravity of his threat sinking in like a lead weight in my chest. This wasn’t a warning—it was a death sentence, postponed only by his love for Destiny. I could feel Johnathon shaking beside me, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but neither of us dared speak.

“Now get the fuck out of here,” D-Truth said, his voice sharp and final, like a judge laying down a sentence. “Before I change my mind.”

I blinked through the blood and sweat dripping into my eyes, the words catching in my throat. “This—this my house,” I stammered, barely able to get the sentence out.

A slow, demonic smile crept across D-Truth’s face, something dark and twisted in the way his eyes lit up. “Oh right,” he said, glancing around the room like he’d just remembered where he was. He gestured toward the door with a casual wave of his hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll see ourselves out. Thanks for having us over.”

He took a few steps toward the door, but stopped short, turning back with a smirk that sent a chill down my spine. “Oh yeah,” he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “make sure you cop my new album when it drops. It’s gonna be fire... like your club.” He winked, that cruel smile still stretched across his face.

The gunman next to him let out this deep, ugly laugh, like it was the funniest shit he’d ever heard. Both of them stood there for a moment, soaking it all in—me and Johnathon laid out on the floor, beaten, broken, bleeding in our own piss and fear. They watched us like predators watching prey that had no chance of escape, amused by the wreckage they’d caused.

I thought maybe this was my chance to stand, to try and crawl my way out of this mess, but before I could even gather myself, a boot smashed into my face, hard and fast, snapping my head back like I’d been hit by a damn sledgehammer.

“Holy fuck!” I screamed, knowing I’d just lost a couple of teeth. My mouth was throbbing, blood dripping through my fingers.

“That’s for Eden, pussy!” the fat one spat, his voice dripping with contempt. And then, literally, he spit on me while I was down there, holding my face, trying to keep the pain from swallowing me whole. The warm spit landed on my cheek, mixing with the blood, and all I could do was lie there, humiliated, broken.

“Johnathon,” D-Truth said, his voice low, almost a growl. “You got off easy tonight. Looks like God really was on your side.”

As they started to leave, D-Truth’s homeboy couldn’t resist one last dig. “Later, football head!” he called out from the living room, the taunt echoing through the house as they walked out, their laughter still bouncing off the walls.

And then, silence.

I stayed there on the floor, too weak to move, my face throbbing from the beating and my pride shattered beyond repair. Johnathon lay beside me, whimpering like a kicked dog, his hands still shaking. The air reeked of blood, sweat, and the acrid stench of our own piss, fear clinging to the room like a fog we couldn’t escape.

The worst part wasn’t the beating. It wasn’t the threats. It was knowing that they’d let us live... for now. But D-Truth had made one thing crystal clear—our lives were hanging by a thread, frayed and fragile. And any moment, any misstep, that thread would snap, and when it did, there’d be no second chances, no mercy.

The real weight of what had just happened crashed down on me. We weren’t just beaten—we were marked.

That door might’ve closed behind them, but I knew it was only a matter of time before it swung open again. And when it did, there wouldn’t be any more warnings.

Only more blood.